txhravy  of  ^he  Cheolojical  ^tmimxy 

PRINCETON  •  NEW  JERSEY 
PRESENTED  BY 

Dr.  F.  L.  Patton 


BX  5133  :*irS4  1876 
Mozley,  J.  B.  1813-187R 


1 

Digitized  by 

tine  Internet  Arcliive 

in  2015 

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UNIVERSITY  AND  OTHER  SERMONS. 


TB^  tl)c  siame  Slut^or. 
Third  Edition,  revised.     Crown  8vo.    ys.  6d. 
EIGHT  LECTURES  ON  THE  MIRACLES: 
Being  the  Bampton  Lectures  for  1865. 


[b— 146.] 


SERMONS 

PREACHED  BEFORE  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  OXFORD 


AND   ON   VARIOUS  OCCASIONS 


BV 

J.  B.  MOZLEY,  D.D. 

REGIUS  PROFESSOR  OF  DIVINITY,  OXFORD,  AND 
CANON  OF  CHRIST  CHURCH 


RIVINGTONS 
Hontion,  C^focD,  and  Camftnliffe 


MDCCCLXXVI 


TO 

THE  VERY  REVEREND 

RICHARD  WILLIAM  CHURCH,  M.A,  D.C.L. 

DEAN  OF  ST.  PAUL'S 
IN  GRATEFUL  RECOLLECTION  OF  A  LONG  FRIENDSHIP 

IS  DEDICATED 

BY  THE  AUTHOR. 


A  D  V  E  RTI  SEMEN  T. 

^"|F  the  following  Sermons,  the  six  first  were  preached 
by  the  Author  before  the  University  in  his  turn 
as  Select  Preacher ;  the  seventh  in  his  own  turn,  the 
eighth  and  ninth  as  Canon  of  Christ  Church. 

Of  those  that  follow,  six  were  preached  in  the 
Cathedrals  of  Worcester  and  Christ  Church,  and  the 
three  last  on  public  occasions  at  Lancing  College. 


CONTENTS. 


SERMON  I. 
Eoman  Counci'L 

PAGE 

(Preached  Sunday  Afternoon,  November  7,  1869. 
"My  Kingdo7n  is  not  of  this  world." — John  xviii.  36       .  i 


SERMON  II. 

(Preached  Sunday  Afternoon,  November  28,  1869.) 

For  J  say  unto  you,  that  except  your  righteousness  shall  ex- 
ceed the  righteousness  of  the  scribes  and  Pharisees,  ye 
shall  in  no  case  enter  into  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven" — 
Matthew  v.  20  28 


SERMON  III. 
(Eternal  tilz. 

(Preached  Sunday  Afternoon,  February  20,  1870.) 

"  For  we  are  saved  by  hope :  but  hope  that  is  seen  is  not  hope  : 
for  what  a  man  seeth,  why  doth  he  yet  hope  for." — 
Romans  viii.  24   .       ..      .       .       .       .  -52 


viii 


Contents. 


SERMON  IV. 

(Preached  Sunday  Afternoon,  December  ii,  1870.) 

page' 

"  Many  that  are  first  shall  be  last ;  and  the  last  shall  be 

first!' — Matthew  xix.  30      .        .       .       .  .82 


SERMON  V. 

(Preached  Sunday  Morning,  March  12,  1871.) 

^''Nation  shall  rise  against  nation,  and  kingdom  against 
kingdom." — Matthew  xxiv.  7        .        .       .  . 


SERMON  VI. 

(Preached  Sunday  Afternoon,  May  7,  1871.) 

"  Thou  art  becotne  exceeding  glorious  ;  Thou  art  clothed  with 
majesty  and  honour.  Thou  deckest  thyself  with  light  as 
it  were  with  a  garment :  and  spreadest  out  the  heavens 
like  a  curtain." — Psalm  civ.  i,  2     .        .       .  .138 


SERMON  VII. 

'^Tljc  SiUork  of  tijc  fe>pint  on  tl)c  il^iatucal  Sl^an. 

(Preached  on  Whitsunday,  May  27,  i860.) 

'•'  The  wind  bloiveth  where  it  listeth,  and  thou  hearest  the 
sound  thereof,  but  canst  not  tell  whence  it  cometh,  and 
whither  it  goeth :  so  is  every  one  that  is  born  of  the 
Spirit." — John  hi.  8     .       .       .       .        .  .164 


Contents. 


ix 


SERMON  VIII. 

(Preached  Sunday  Morning,  November  2,  1873.) 

PAGE 

"  Sacrifice  and  offering  Thou  ivoiildest  fiot,  but  a  body  hast 

Thou  prepared  me." — Hebrews  x.  5         .       .  .183 


SERMON  IX. 
€)uc  3Dutp  to  (£qual0» 

(Preached  February  i,  1874.) 

"  Condescend  to  men  of  low  estate.   .   .   .   Provide  things 

honest  in  the  sight  of  all  men." — Romans  xii.  16,  17  .  208 


SERMON  X. 

'(It)e  peaceful  temper. 

'  Follow  peace  with  all  men,  and  holiness,  ivithont  which  no 

man  shall  see  the  Lord." — Hebrews  xii.  14      .  .231 


SERMON  XI. 
W^z  ^trcngtlj  of  ^i'0^e0» 

''Ask,  and  it  shall  be  given  you  ;  seek,  and  ye  shall  find ; 
knock,  and  it  shall  be  opened  unto  you :  for  every  one 
that  asketh  recciveth  ;  and  he  that  seeketh  findeth  ;  and 
to  him  that  knocketh  it  shall  be  opened^ — Matthew 


X 


Contents. 


SERMON  XII. 

2Un?Jpofeen  9Iut)a;mcnt  of  Sl^anfemti* 

PAGE 

"  /  said,  I  will  take  heed  to  my  ways,  that  I  offend  not  with 
my  tongue:  I  will  keep  my  month  as  it  were  with  a 
bridle,  while  the  ungodly  is  in  my  sight." — Psalm 

XXXIX.  I,  2   .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  253 


SERMON  XIII. 

W^z  %x\xz  %z^t  of  Spiritual  Bi'ctlj. 

"  Marvel  not  that  I  said  unto  thee,  Ye  must  be  born  again. 
The  wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth,  and  thou  hearest  the 
sound  thereof,  but  canst  7iot  tell  whence  it  cometh,  and 
whither  it  goeth :  so  is  every  otie  that  is  born  of  the 
Spirit." — John  hi.  7,  8         .....  265 


SERMON  XIV. 

"  Christ  is  not  entered  into  the  holy  places  made  with  hands, 
which  are  the  figures  of  the  true  ;  but  into  heaven  itself, 
now  to  appear  in  the  presence  of  God  for  us." — 
Hebrews  ix.  24   .       .       .       .       .       .  -277 


SERMON  XV. 

(Brati'tuDe, 

"  And  Jesus  ansivering  said,  Were  there  not  ten  cleansed ? 
but  where  are  the  nine  i  There  are  ttot  found  that  re- 
turned to  give  glory  to  God,  save  this  stranger." — Luke 
XVII.  17       .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .  288 


Contents.  xi 

SERMON  XVI. 
^!je  Manciple  of  (Emulation* 

Preached  on  the  Anniversary  (May  6th)  of  the  Founding  of  Lancing 
College. 

PAGE 

"  Neither  do  men  light  a  candle,  and  put  it  under  a  bushel, 
but  on  a  candlestick  ;  and  it  giveth  light  unto  all  that 
are  in  the  Jwuse.  Let  your  light  so  shine  before  men, 
that  they  inay  see  your  good  works,  and  glorify  your 
Father  Which  is  in  heaven." — Matthew  v.  15,  i6    .  298 

SERMON  XVII. 

EeUffi'on  tljc  ific0t  Cljoi'ce. 

Preached  on  the  Anniversary  of  the  Founding  of  Lancing  College. 

"  Bttt  seek  ye  first  the  Kingdom  of  God,  and  His  rig/iteous- 
ness  ;  and  all  these  things  shall  be  added  mito  yoit." — 
Matthew  vi.  33  .       .       .       .       .       .  313 

SERMON  XVIII. 

3Ii^fl"^i^t^^  of  2Do0:mati'c  '^eacliins;  on  dStiucation. 

Preached  at  Lancing  College  (October  26,  1875)  on  the  Opening  of 
the  Crypt. 

"  The  Church  of  the  living  God,  the  pillar  and  ground  of 

the  truth" — t  Timothy  iii.  15       .       .       .  -332 


THE  ROMAN  COUNCIL. 


St.  John  xviii.  36. 

"  My  Kingdom  is  not  of  this  worlds 

nnmS  is  a  text  which  has,  as  it  were,  looked  at  the 
Church  ever  since  the  Church  was  founded.  It 
is  like  an  eye  fixed  upon  her,  from  which  she  cannot 
escape  :  she  has  in  times  past  thought  she  has  escaped 
from  it,  she  has  acted  according  to  her  own  will,  and 
taken  her  own  way  in  claiming  earthly  sovereignty, 
in  wielding  the  arms  of  this  world,  and  converting 
herself  into  a  kingdom  of  force  ;  but  that  eye  has 
been  upon  her :  go  where  she  will,  and  in  whatever 
divergent  paths,  and  branches  of  those  paths,  and 
circuits  of  those  paths, — that  eye  has  been  upon  her. 
It  was  upon  her  when  St.  Augustine,  contrary  to  his 
first  and  natural  convictions,  which  he  confesses  he 
did  violence  to,  called  in  the  imperial  arms  to  suppress 
the  Donatists  :  it  was  upon  her  when  Gregory  VII. 
in  her  behalf  claimed  the  monarchy  of  the  world,  and 
exercised  the  rights  of  such  a  monarchy :  it  was  upon 
her,  and  more  sternly,  when  by  simple  carnage  she 
suppressed  the  Reformation  in  Italy,  Spain,  and 
France :  it  was  upon  her  when  she  sat  in  the  judicial 
halls  of  the  Inquisition  ;  upon  her  very  tribunal, 

B 


2 


The  Rojnan  Council. 


while  her  eye  was  fixed  upon  tlie  subjects  of  her 
power,  that  eye  was  looking  upon  her  :  it  was  upon 
her  afterwards  when  she  kept  up  prohibitions,  penal- 
ties, imprisonments,  and  the  like,  in  behalf  of  her  own 
faith :  and  it  is  looking  upon  her  now — now,  when 
the  circuit  of  her  worldly  power  seems  to  be  accom- 
plished, when  the  whole  cycle  is  over ;  and  when,  after 
ages  of  earthly  supremacy,  from  which  she  has  lately 
step  by  step  descended,  the  order  of  things  has  all  but 
rolled  back  again  upon  its  hinges,  and  the  Church  stands 
face  to  face  again  with  Christ  in  the  judgment-hall, 
saying,  "  My  Kingdom  is  not  of  this  world."  That 
saying  has  looked  through  history,  through  all  the 
successive  phases  of  the  Church's  worldly  position,  and 
now  sees  itself  issuing  out  of  the  long  period  of  its 
contradiction,  into  its  great  verification.  It  has  ac- 
complished itself  simply  by  the  course  of  events.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  it  is  found  impossible  that  the 
government  of  the  world  can  be  conducted  upon  the 
contrary  principle.  AVe  have  tried  the  principle  of 
the  Church  being  a  kingdom  of  this  world,  appealing 
to  force,  in  any  shape,  and  we  find  by  experiment — 
long  experiment  certainly,  but  not  the  less,  on  the 
contrary,  so  much  the  more  certain — that  it  does  not 
answer,  that  things  cannot  go  on,  and  that  another 
ground  must  be  taken.  It  is  thus  that  God  teaches 
us  by  events ;  He  lets  us  go  as  long  as  we  like  in  our 
own  way,  till  our  own  way  becomes  an  absurdity  and 
a  contradiction  ;  till  it  refutes  itself,  and  we  have  to 
extricate  ourselves  out  of  it  as  we  can. 

The  very  earliest  Christianity,  that  which  is  coeval 


The  Roman  Council. 


3 


with  the  fountain-head,  is  thus  the  most  modem  in  its 
tone,  the  most  harmonising  with  the  claims  of  advan- 
cing society  in  its  poHtical  aspect.  It  is  the  political 
Christianity  of  a  later  age,  nay,  of  an  age  almost  close 
to  our  own,  that  is  now  antiquated  and  obsolete,  the 
Christianity  which  was  propped  up  by  civil  penalties ; 
but  the  Christianity  of  the  Gospel  is  indeed  as  modern 
in  its  spirit  as  if  it  had  arisen  to-day.  See  its  maxims, 
its  principles  on  this  great  subject ;  they  are  the 
maxims,  the  principles  of  the  present  day.  It  abjures 
force,  it  throws  itself  upon  moral  influence  for  its 
propagation  and  maintenance.  What  more  could  it 
have  done  to  have  been  in  keeping  with  latest  time  ? 
These  are  the  very  w^atchwords  that  we  now  boast  of, 
and  by  which  we  think  we  have  excelled  all  antiquity. 
We  have  excelled  a  later  antiquity,  but  not  the 
earliest  and  first.  That  now  meets  us  and  stretches 
out  its  hands  to  us  over  a  long  interval.  There  is 
nothing  obsolete  in  the  original  spirit  of  the  Gospel, 
nothing  in  its  truths,  it  is  old  and  it  is  new  too.  And 
how  does  such  a  thought  lead  us  uj)  to  the  Divine 
Mind  of  the  Founder,  spanning  all  time,  from  the  day 
of  His  own  sojourn  in  the  flesh  to  the  end  ;  sending 
forth  a  religion  whose  original  political  maxims  we 
have  even  now  to  fall  back  upon,  after  a  long  de- 
parture, as  the  only  ones  that  the  modern  world  can 
act  upon ;  those,  viz.,  that  are  contained  in  the  funda- 
mental law,  "  My  Kingdom  is  not  of  this  world." 

I  am  led,  in  connection  with  this  subject,  to  make 
some  remarks  on  the  approaching  Council  of  the 
Eoman  Church,  the  programme  of  which  is  no  secret 


4 


The  Roman  Council. 


to  us,  viz.,  that  it  will  convert  the  Papal  Infallibility 
into  a  dogma,  and  adopt  the  Papal  condemnation  of 
the  Theses  of  the  Syllabus.  And  there  will  be  no  need 
to  remind  any  one  here  of  what  those  Theses  are,  viz., 
that  some  are  assertions  of  a  certain  class  of  civil 
rights,  which  we  call  the  rights  of  conscience,  rights 
which  the  modern  world  universally  recognises,  and 
which  are  in  all  civilised  countries  regarded  as  the 
inalienable  property  of  the  individual  ;  that  some 
others  again  are  assertions  with  respect  to  the  Chris- 
tian Church,  viz.,  that  no  temporal  power,  or  use  of 
force,  resides  in  the  Church,  by  any  right  of  its  ori- 
ginal foundation.  These  propositions  are  condemned 
in  the  Syllabus. 

Two  sets  of  divines,  indeed,  dispute  beforehand  as 
to  what  will  be  the  effect  of  the  decrees  of  the  Council 
upon  the  political  relations  of  citizens,  and  whether 
they  will  produce  any  disturbance  of  those  relations. 
The  Theological  Faculty  of  Munich,  in  reply  to  the 
question  of  the  Bavarian  Government,  declares,  upon 
the  assumption  on  which  the  questions  are  based — 
viz.,  that  the  truths  affirmed  will  be  made  articles  of 
faith — that  they  will.  On  the  other  hand,  a  section 
of  the  faculty,  instead  of  replying  to  the  questions  of 
the  government  upon  the  assumption  on  which  they 
are  based,  denies  the  assumption.  The  Papal  Infalli- 
bility, it  is  admitted,  will  be  converted  into  an  article 
of  faith  ;  but  inasmuch  as  the  dogma  of  the  infallibility 
will  not,  it  is  said,  commit  the  Church  to  the  sphere  of 
that  infallibility,  this  dogma  wiU  contain  no  material 
of  collision  with  the  civil  power.    On  the  other  hand, 


The  Roman  Co2incil. 


5 


the  condemnations  of  the  Syllabus,  which  do  come 
into  the  province  of  politics,  and  so  of  their  own 
nature  do  tend  to  collision  with  the  civil  power- — 
these,  it  is  mysteriously  and  obliquely  intimated,  will 
not  be  found  in  effect  to  be  articles  of  faith,  i.e.,  to  be 
binding  upon  the  belief  of  every  individual  Christian, 
It  is  indeed  remarkable  to  see  the  great  alteration 
in  the  point  of  view  with  which  a  council  in  primitive 
times  was  looked  at,  and  with  which  a  council  is  now, 
from  within  the  bosom  of  the  Church.  Then  there 
was  a  kind  of  impetuous  rush,  on  the  part  of  the 
whole  Church,  into  the  embraces  of  a  council, — a 
forward  leap  into  the  belief  of  its  doctrines,  and 
almost  in  advance  of  them.  Now  the  great  advan- 
tage seems  to  be,  not  how  much  of  a  council's  result 
there  is  necessary  to  be  believed,  but  how  little.  There 
is  a  studious  solicitude  to  reduce  this  obligation.  We 
see  already  the  line  and  rule  at  work,  to  mark  ac- 
curately the  scale  of  belief.  This  is  promulgated  by 
the  Council  as  true,  and  must  be  believed :  that  is 
promulgated  by  the  Council  as  true,  and  need  not  be 
believed.  AVe  see  a  staff  of  theologians  preceding  the 
Council  like  judicious  pioneers,  in  order  to  construct  a 
road  of  escape  for  the  body  of  the  faithful  from  its 
decrees.  We  see  them  preparing  their  structure  be- 
forehand to  act  as  a  receptacle  of  these  decrees,  to 
accommodate  them  for  the  encounter  with  the  outer 
world  ;  we  see  them  projecting  by  anticipation,  before 
the  Council,  a  dissolving  medium,  to  stand  waiting, 
ready  prepared  to  receive  the  dicta  when  they  come 
out.    Without,  however,  going  more  into  this  ques- 


6 


The  Roman  Council. 


tion,  it  will  be  enough  for  us  that  this  will  be  the  full 
and  formal  teaching  of  the  Church,  of  which  she  will 
accept  the  entire  responsibility ;  and  which  she  will 
promulgate  as  by  her  very  theory  absolutely  true. 
What  internal  accommodations  will  be  made  within 
the  body  for  the  unbelief  of  a  large  section  of  it ;  and 
how  the  personal  authorities  of  the  Church  that  deal 
with  the  individual  will  contrive  that  these  decrees 
shall  not  practically  act  as  binding  upon  the  conscience 
of  every  individual ;  in  a  word,  what  systematic  con- 
nivance will  be  practised  within  the  communion  at 
the  non-reception  of  the  decrees — with  all  this  we 
have  properly  nothing  to  do.  It  is  enough  for  us 
that  this  will  be  the  Council's  statement  of  truth, 
promulgated  by  the  full  and  integral  representative 
Church  as  true,  and  being,  by  the  very  rationale  of 
Infallibility,  absolutely  true. 

What,  then,  are  the  doctrines  which  the  Eoman 
Church  will  thus  incorporate  into  her  teaching,  will 
shape  into  formulae,  and  promulgate  with  the  whole 
weight  of  her  own  responsibility  at  the  Council  ? 
Those  which  bear  upon  the  great  questions  of  the 
relation  of  Church  and  State,  and  with  which  we  are 
concerned  on  the  present  occasion,  are  principally  two 
— one  of  which  affects  the  use  and  desim  of  civil  or  tem- 
poral  power  ;  the  other,  the  proper  holder  of  that  power 
— whether  the  Church  can,  by  the  rule  of  Scripture, 
claim  any  right  to  the  possession  and  exercise  of  it. 

With  respect  to  the  first  of  these  two  doctrines — 
the  Council  in  ratifying  the  Syllabus,  will  assert  the 
right  of  the  temporal  or  civil  power  to  punish  on 


The  Roman  Council. 


7 


account  of  religious  belief,  or  to  use  force  in  religion. 
The  Syllabus,  by  the  condemnation  of  the  opposite 
theses/  says,  "  Ecclesia  vim  inferendi  potestatem  ha- 
bet :  ecclesiae  jus  competit  violatores  legum  suarum 
poenis  temporalibus  coercendi."  Again  :  "  expedit 
religionem  Catholicam  haberi  tanquam  unicam  Status 
religionem,  ceteris  quibuscunque  cultibus  exclusis," 
which  implies  that  such  civil  exclusion  is  in  itself 
right.  We  confine  ourselves  here,  then,  to  the  asser- 
tion made  about  temporal  or  civil  power,  that  it  has 
a  right  to  punish  and  to  use  force  in  matters  of 
religion ;  in  a  word,  the  assertion  of  the  right  of 
persecution.  For  when  we  speak,  in  religious  or 
philosoj)hical  discussion,  of  the  right  of  persecution, 
we  do  not  necessarily  involve  in  the  fact  any  outrages, 
positive  cruelties,  or  barbarities ;  but  only  imply,  as 
essential  to  it,  the  application  of  force. 

How,  then,  are  we  to  regard  the  formal  assertion 
of  this  principle  by  the  Koman  Church  ?  One  or  two 
observations  will  be  necessary  to  show. 

Upon  the  general  subject,  then,  of  the  right  to  use 
force  and  to  punish  for  religion,  the  historical  language 
that  we  use  is  apt  to  hide  the  real  moral  point  in- 
volved in  it,  i.e.,  to  cover  from  our  view  the  fact  that 
the  real  question  at  bottom  involved  in  it  is  strictly  a 
moral  question.  We  say  that  mankind  has  advanced 
too  far  to  use  force  in  religion ;  we  see  the  expediency 
and  utility  of  this  forbearance  for  society  ;  we  see  that 
as  a  fashion  of  thought  the  idea  of  the  riorht  of  force 
in  religion  has  amongst  ourselves  passed  away,  though 

^  See  Note  at  tlie  end  of  the  Volume. 


8 


The  Roman  Council. 


two  centuries  ago  good  and  holy  men  even  among 
ourselves  held  it.  That  is  to  say,  we  philosophise  on 
the  subject.  But  besides  this  historical  language,  and 
this  utilitarian  language,  and  this  philosophical  lan- 
guage, there  is  a  moral  language  that  we  must  use  on 
this  question. 

The  morality,  then,  of  this  question,  is  inherent  in 
the  very  fact  that  Church  and  State  are  two  distinct 
societies ;  that  these  societies  have  two  distinct  scopes 
and  ends ;  that  with  their  respective  ends  what  they 
regard  respectively  as  crimes  also  differ ;  and  that, 
therefore,  to  use  the  weapons  of  one  of  those  societies 

^  against  a  sin  or  error  in  the  other  society,  is  a  total 
irrelevancy  and  misapplication.  The  Church  is  a 
spiritual  society,  to  educate  us  by  revealed  doctrine 
for  an  eternal  existence  :  the  State  is  a  temporal 
society,  to  preserve  order  and  peace  in  the  world,  and 
to  maintain  human  life  under  its  proper  visible  con- 
ditions. If,  then,  I  am  guilty  of  spiritual  error,  no 
good  conduct  in  the  State  gives  me  any  claim  on  the 
Church.    If,  on  the  other  hand,  I  am  respectable  in 

■  the  State,  I  am  not  punishable  by  the  State  for  any 
spiritual  error.  Are  men  pursuing  their  proper  avoca- 
tions, as  peaceable  citizens  ;  are  they  irreproachable 
members  of  civil  society,  living  in  accord  with  its 
plain  ends ;  in  that  case,  to  drag  them  before  a  court, 
to  throw  them  into  a  prison,  or  to  inflict  a  penalty  on 
them,  on  account  of  some  supposed  error  in  the 
spiritual  society,  is  as  irrelevant,  and  speaking  essen- 
tially, as  grotesque,  as  would  be  the  infliction  vice 
versa  of  spiritual  censures  upon  material  faults,  upon 


The  Roman  Council. 


9 


errors  of  political  economy,  of  invention,  of  art,  or  of 
military  strategics.  It  is  only  custom  which  could 
make  people  not  see  that  it  was  as  absurd  to  imprison 
a  heresy  as  to  strike  a  bad  piece  of  mechanism  with  an 
anathema.  And  from  this  utter  irrelevancy  there 
springs  the  plain  immorality  of  the  act ;  the  inappro- 
priatness  of  the  punishment  constitutes  its  injustice. 
For  cannot  the  punished  man  say — you  punish  me  as 
civil  ruler,  but  in  what,  as  representative  of  civil 
society,  have  I  oflFended  you  ?  I  have  done  you  no 
wrong  in  that  capacity ;  I  have  been  living  peaceably 
and  honestly,  and  in  conformity  with  all  the  claims  of 
the  visible  community.  To  such  a  complaint  there  is 
no  answer ;  and,  therefore,  when  society  decides 
against  civil  punishments  for  religious  errors,  that 
decision  is  not  a  mere  judgment  of  expediency,  it  is 
not  the  mere  voice  of  material  progress ;  but  it  is  a 
moral  judgment  upon  a  question  of  right  or  wrong, 
which  has  been  evoked  out  of  the  reason  and  con- 
science of  mankind,  ujDon  the  plain  state  of  the  case, 
when  once  that  state  of  the  case  was  cleared  up  ;  when 
once  the  inherent  distinction  of  the  civil  and  spiritual 
bodies  had  been  extricated  from  the  confusion  which 
had  identified  them. 

Mere  historical  language,  then,  or  mere  utilitarian 
language,  or  mere  philosophical  language,  does  not 
adequately  represent  that  which  is  in  reality  a  moral 
position,  compelled  by  the  moral  sense  on  this  subject. 
It  is  perfectly  true  that  good  and  holy  men  in  former 
times  have  upheld  the  doctrine  of  persecution,  or  the 
application  of  force  in  religion  ;  and  some  might  be 


lO 


The  Roman  Council. 


disposed  to  argue  from  this  fact  against  the  existence 
of  any  solid  rule  or  law  of  morals  on  this  subject. 
But  that  would  be  a  blind  and  mistaken  inference. 
For  does  not  this  difficulty  of  the  good  acting  wrongly 
apply  to  any  case  whatever  in  which  the  rightness  of 
any  particular  conduct  follows  upon  a  certain  state  of 
facts,  while,  at  the  same  time,  that  state  of  facts  may 
not  be  aj)prehended  or  perceived  at  all  by  the  indi- 
vidual, or,  so  dimly,  as  practically  to  amount  to  an 
ignorance  of  them.  In  any  case  like  this,  if  a  good 
man  does  not  see  the  facts,  he  will  not  of  course  see 
the  moral  inference  from  them ;  and  he  may  act 
"WTongly ;  but  that  does  not  show  that  the  moral  in- 
ference is  uncertain,  but  only  that  he  did  not  see  the 
premiss  of  fact  from  which  the  moral  inference  is 
drawn.  An  intrinsic  and  eternal  obligation  in  morals 
does  not  require  that  the  basis  of  facts  upon  which  it 
arises  should  be  always  seen  ;  but  only  that  it  should 
directly  flow  from  those  facts  when  they  are  seen — 
that  then  a  certain  course  would  be  always  the  right 
one.  This  is  the  state  of  the  case,  then,  with  regard 
to  the  morality  of  not  applying  force  or  the  ci\dl 
sword  in  religion.  This  is  an  intrinsic  moral  truth 
upon  the  true  state  of  facts  being  perceived,  that  the 
Church  and  State  are  distinct  societies,  with  distinct 
scopes  and  ends.  But  that  it  is  this,  does  not  at  all 
imply  that  that  state  of  the  case  was  always  seen. 
On  the  contrary,  it  is  only  comparatively  recently 
that  it  was  distinctly  seen  or  apprehended.  For 
many  ages  Church  and  State  were  practically  one 
body  in  people's  minds  in  this  sense,  that  sins  against 


The  Roman  Council. 


the  one  ranked  also  as  sins  against  the  other  ;  the 
membership  of  the  two  bodies  coincided  ;  the  two 
bodies  were  not  distinguished ;  their  provinces  and 
scopes  were  not.  Under  such  circumstances  it  looked 
the  natural  thing  to  men,  if  they  had  power  in  their 
hands,  to  use  it  for  anything  that  seemed  generally  a 
good  object  to  them ;  and  if  it  was  a  good  thing  to 
put  down  heresy  by  it,  they  thought  they  ought  to  do 
so.  A  whole  revolution  of  the  status  of  the  world  was 
necessary,  a  whole  train  of  historical  events  was  neces- 
sary, in  order  to  untie  in  people's  minds  the  two 
societies  that  had  been  confused  together,  and  to  make 
the  disclosure  of  the  real  state  of  the  case  as  regards 
Church  and  State  ;  and  Christianity  itself  brought 
about  this  revolution  and  this  new  set  of  events,  be- 
cause Christianity  engendered  such  strength  of  con- 
viction in  people's  minds,  whether  correct  or  erroneous 
in  its  subject,  that  sects  when  they  arose  would  not  be 
put  down  by  force ;  they  stood,  therefore,  as  insul- 
ations and  incongruities — in  the  State,  but  not  in  the 
Church,  obtruding  in  the  very  eyes  of  everybody  the 
visible  fact  of  the  distinction  of  the  two.  But  when 
once  the  two  bodies  were  seen  as  distinct,  then  the 
scopes  of  the  two  ceased  to  be  confounded,  and  the 
moral  sense  of  society  on  this  question,  even  though 
late,  was  drawn  fully  out.  It  was  evident  that  the 
arms  of  the  visible  order  were  appropriate  to  the  de- 
fence of  the  visible  order ;  and  that  to  use  them  for 
the  ends  of  the  spiritual  order  was  a  plain  misappli- 
cation of  them.  The  conscience  of  the  community 
saw  the  impropriety  of  the  civil  power  using  its 


12 


The  Roniati  Council. 


punishments  and  its  penalties  for  a  purpose  wholly 
alien  from  its  own  scope.  But  the  moral  sense  which 
was  just  awakened  had  been  inherent  in  society  all 
along,  and  only  waited  for  the  true  disclosure  of  the 
facts  to  draw  this  conclusion  from  them ;  which  in- 
deed arose  of  itself,  as  soon  as  ever  the  scope  of  the 
civil  power  was  extricated  from  the  vague  confusion 
in  which  it  had  lain,  and  eliminated  from  the  double 
and  complex  aim  of  the  union,  when  the  two  M'^ere 
confused  together.  The  verdict  is  recent  then,  be- 
cause the  true  aspect  of  the  facts  on  which  it  is 
founded  is  recent ;  but  the  principle  of  the  verdict  is 
no  less  an  eternal  principle  of  morals,  because  it  is  the 
principle  that  you  have  no  right  to  punish  a  man  in 
the  sphere  in  which  he  does  not  offend,  and  for  a  sin 
which  does  not  come  under  your  cognisance.  This 
principle  was  as  true  and  as  inherent  in  the  mind  in 
the  Middle  Ages  as  it  is  now,  but  the  facts  upon  which 
this  particular  application  of  it  arose  were  not  properly 
understood.  It  waited  for  that  light ;  but  that  given, 
that  sense  of  justice  forthwith  arose  which  said,  You 
have  no  right  to  apply  the  weapon  of  one  order  to  the 
sins  against  another  order ;  the  weapons  of  the  tem- 
poral world  to  the  errors  of  the  spiritual. 

In  this,  then,  lies  the  critical  character  of  the  doc- 
trine of  persecution,  or  the  right  of  using  force  against 
errors  in  religion,  promulgated  in  the  Syllabus,  and  to 
be  confirmed  by  the  Council,  viz.,  that  such  a  doctrine 
comes  in  most  direct  collision,  not  only  with  the  sense 
of  expediency  in  society,  not  only  with  an  intellectual 
idea  in  society,  but  with  the  plain  and  downright 


The  Roman  Council. 


13 


moral  sense  of  society.  We  dismiss  from  our  minds 
any  notion  of  practical  consequences  in  the  way  of  per- 
secution to  follow  upon  this  judgment ;  nothing  of  that 
kind  is  likely  to  follow.  We  simply  look  upon  the 
judgment  in  its  dogmatical  aspect ;  as  committing  the 
Roman  Church  to  a  false  doctrine  in  morals.  Because 
this  is  not  a  question  of  theology,  not  a  question  of 
ecclesiastical  order,  but  a  plain  question  of  morality, 
upon  which  the  Church  of  Eome  will  say  one  thing, 
and  the  whole  moral  sense  of  society  another.  The 
position  may  not  be  immoral  in  the  holders,  who  may 
be  excused  by  prejudice  and  tradition,  but  it  is  not  the 
less  in  itself  an  immoral  position. 

It  must  be  observed  here,  throughout,  that  what 
has  been  spoken  of  has  been  a  unity  of  Church  and 
State,  such  a  unity  as  that,  what  is  a  sin  against  the 
one  is  a  sin  against  the  other  too.  Such  a  union  of 
the  two  as  this,  must  essentially  issue  in  persecution  ; 
because,  if  what  is  a  crime  in  the  eye  of  the  Church  is 
a  crime  in  the  eye  of  the  State  too,  the  State  must 
punish  that  crime,  and  heresy  is  such  a  crime.  How 
can  the  State  avoid  punishing  the  Church's  delinquents, 
if  the  Church's  delinquents  are  also  the  State's  delin- 
quents ?  A  contract  between  Church  and  State,  such 
as  exists  in  this  country,  with  special  concessions  on 
one  side,  and  special  grants  on  the  other,  is  not  charge- 
able with  any  such  result  as  this  ;  but  from  the  unity 
of  the  two,  there  does  so  necessarily  flow  the  conse- 
quence of  persecution,  of  civil  punishment  on  religious 
belief,  that  we  cannot  but  consider  our  brethren  and 
fellow-subjects,  the  Roman  Catholic  hierarchy  in  this 


14 


The  Roman  Council. 


country,  placed  in  an  unfortunate  position,  in  having 
at  this  juncture  to  sigh  in  their  pastorals  after  the  re- 
storation of  that  unity ;  to  sigh  in  obedience  to  the 
Syllabus ;  to  sigh,  that  is,  for  a  return  of  the  era  of 
penal  laws  and  disabilities  ;  to  sigh  for  them,  that  is 
to  say,  in  Continental  States,  for  here  they  obviously 
would  not  be  for  their  advantage.  They  repudiate  the 
heathen  State,  i.e.,  that  which  gives  equal  civil  privi- 
leges to  all  communions  ;  they  discard  the  Christian 
State,  i.e.,  that  which  confines  such  privileges  to  the 
Church.  They  stand,  indeed,  in  a  somewhat  eccentric 
attitude  before  this  country,  in  insisting  on  the  moral 
right  of  persecution ;  but  they  speak  at  the  dictate  of 
a  higher  power,  whose  word  is  law.  Such  a  yearning 
for  unjust  and  obsolete  governments, — governments 
excusable  in  the  confusion  of  ideas  in  former  days,  but 
utterly  inexcusable  in  our  own  ;  such  a  longing — 
especially  on  the  part  of  the  heads  of  a  communion 
which  has  so  singularly  benefited  by  a  free  govern- 
ment,— is,  we  may  hope,  only  a  sudden  enthusiasm, 
which  will  disappear  with  the  stimulus  which  has  com- 
municated it ;  more  especially  as  such  a  preference 
cannot  but  be  a  barren  and  unrepaid  attachment,  a 
wasted  affection.  It  is,  indeed,  the  most  disinterested 
of  conceivable  championships,  the  championship  of  the 
theory  of  persecution  without  the  advantage  of  the  fact, 
which  is  now  no  longer  possible. 

From  the  first  consideration  of  the  scope  of  the 
temporal  power,  we  now  come  to  the  second,  of  the 
holder  of  that  power, — that  the  right  of  force  or  the 
use  of  the  temporal  sword,  is  asserted  as  inherent  in 


The  Roman  Council. 


15 


the  Church.  Upon  this  point,  then,  it  is  pleaded,  in 
extenuation  of  the  approaching  Council,  that  the  dogma 
of  the  Papal  Infallibility  erected,  will  yet  not  commit 
the  Church  to  the  sphere  of  that  Infallibility,  but  will 
leave  it,  as  it  has  been,  an  open  question  in  ecclesiastical 
theology  whether  that  Infallibility  extends  to  the  field 
of  worldly  power  or  is  limited  to  spiritual  subject- 
matter  ;  whether  it  involves  a  divinely-ordained  sove- 
reignty over  monarchs  and  governments,  or  does  not 
carry  this  corollary  with  it.  It  may  be  admitted,  then, 
that  the  dogma  of  the  Papal  Infallibility  does  not  of 
itself  impose  the  sphere  of  it ;  although  it  cannot  but 
be  seen  that  in  the  eyes  of  the  whole  school  which 
maintains  that  the  temporal  sovereignty  is  inseparably 
connected  with  the  Infallibility,  the  one  dogma  includes 
and  takes  under  its  warrant  the  other  truth  ;  and  that 
school  is  the  authorised  representative  of  the  Papacy, 

But  what,  after  all,  does  the  resort  to  this  distinc- 
tion obtain  for  the  extenuators  of  the  Council,  when 
the  distinction  itself,  the  whole  of  it,  root  and  branch, 
is  aboKshed  by  the  articles  of  the  Syllabus  ?  The 
Syllabus  expressly  asserts  for  the  Church  an  inherent 
temporal  power,  an  inherent  right  to  the  use  of  force  : 
it  arms  her  with  the  temporal  power  not  as  an  adven- 
titious ajjpendage,  not  as  the  accident  of  an  age,  not  as 
an  auxiliary  instrument  which  the  civil  government 
lends  and  may  take  away — that  idea  of  it  is  utterly 
condemned — but  as  a  power  which  springs  out  of  her- 
self, out  of  the  very  bosom  of  the  Divine  design,  and 
out  of  the  very  charter  of  her  foundation  and  institu- 
tion as  the  Church  of  Christ.   "  Ecclesia  vim  inferendi 


i6 


The  Roman  Council. 


potestatem  habet :  temporalis  potestas  non  est  a  civili 
Imperio  concessa,  nec  revocanda  a  civili  Imperio." 
But  if  the  Church  has  an  inherent  temporal  power,  and 
if  the  whole  power  of  the  Church  is  in  the  Pope,  as  by 
the  dogma  of  Infallibility  it  is — if  he  wields  the  power 
of  the  Church,  how  can  the  Pope  not  possess  a  tem- 
poral monarchy,  a  monarchy  extending  everywhere 
where  the  Church  extends  ?  He  possesses  it  by  virtue 
of  his  very  spiritual  office  as  Head  of  the  Church. 
His  Infalliliility  is  ijyso  facto  a  universal  empire. 

The  student  of  history  may  indeed  see  much  that 
is  majestic  and  magnificent  in  the  development  of  the 
temporal  power  of  the  Church  of  Eome  ;  and  the  first 
outbreak  of  the  Empire  of  the  Church  under  Gregory 
VII.,  is  not  only  so  splendid  an  historical  spectacle, 
but  one  which  brings  so  much  purity  and  nobility  of 
character  before  us,  that  this  claim  may  be  said  to 
have  started  with  an  advantage.  It  is  difficult  to  get  at 
all  the  motives  which  animated  that  wonderful,  and 
we  may  almost  say,  mysterious  man ;  but  amidst  a 
large  mass  of  aims  connected  ^dth  the  political  great- 
ness of  the  priesthood,  there  certainly  breaks  out  from 
him  a  spirit  very  distinct  from  that  of  the  mere  ad- 
vancement of  his  order.  There  is  the  revelation  of  a 
great  moral  hatred,  a  hatred  of  all  the  visible  power  of 
the  world  regarded  as  a  vast  selfish  manifestation  and 
embodiment  of  evil.  The  spectacle  of  triumphant  e\dl 
and  of  the  world's  corruption,  has  acted  upon  some  re- 
markable minds  like  the  perpetual  presence  of  some 
hateful  apparition,  penetrating  them  with  disgust,  de- 
pressing them  mth  gloom,  or  goading  them  to  retalia- 


The  Roman  Council. 


17 


tion.  They  are  ever  in  imaginary  contest  with  that 
foe — that  hostile  impersonation — challenged  by  his 
success,  and  disquieted  by  his  satisfaction.  Such 
minds  have  embraced  the  appalling  vision  of  the 
world's  evil  with  the  keenness  and  illumination  of  in- 
spired prophets ;  but  the  malignity  of  it  has  fastened 
on  them,  sometimes  to  solemnise  and  fortify,  and  some- 
times only  to  embitter  and  exasperate  them.  And 
hence  the  most  discordantly  opposite  characters,  that 
look  as  if  no  division  could  bring  them  under  a  com- 
mon  head,  have  yet  exhibited  a  common  element  in 
this  inspiration  of  a  great  hatred ;  it  is  the  one  bond 
which  unites  the  stern  judge  with  the  satirist,  who 
laughs  at  everything :  the  great  religious  poet  of  the 
Middle  Ages  with  him  who  lies  under  the  arches  of  St. 
Patrick,  in  that  last  home,  "  ubi  saeva  indignatio  ulte- 
rius  cor  lacerare  nequit." 

When  men  of  action,  then,  are  animated  by  this 
great  hatred,  when  they  feel  themselves  in  passionate 
hostility  to  this  great  evil  manifestation,  this  gigantic 
spectacle  of  injustice  and  corruption,  they  express  it 
hy  action,  by  revolutionary  projects  for  demolishing  or 
changing  institutions.  It  is  impossible  not  to  see  that 
Gregory  VII.  looked  upon  the  whole  government  of 
the  world  of  his  day,  selfish  conspiracy  for  the 
promotion  of  oppression  and  rapine.  He  gives  no 
credit  to  kings  or  emperors  for  any  other  motive  ;  and 
certainly  the  facts  of  the  case  were  such  that  the 
mistake,  if  it  were  one,  admits  of  some  excuse.  He 
goes  back  to  the  originals  of  kingdoms.    Who  is  the 

founder  of  one  of  these  earthly  governments  1  Some 

c 


i8 


The  Roman  Council. 


sanguinary  adventurer,  whose  usurpation  succeeded. 
"  Who  is  ignorant,"  he  says,  "  that  our  existing 
dynasties  all  derive  their  origin  from  such  men,  from 
the  proud  and  the  impious,  from  perjurers,  murderers, 
and  robbers,  from  men  stained  with  every  crime  that 
can  debase  human  nature ;  and  whose  blind  cupidity 
and  intolerable  insolence  inspired  them  with  the  only 
motive  they  ever  had  in  governing,  viz.,  a  tyrannical 
wash  to  domineer  over  their  fellow-creatures  ? "  And 
he  calls  upon  us  to  behold  the  superstructure  which 
has  been  raised  upon  this  foundation,  and  to  observe 
how  it  fits  it.  "  Look,"  he  says,  "  at  Kings  and 
Emperors ;  and  is  it  not  obvious  what  their  motives 
are,  that  they  are  motives  of  selfishness  and  ambition, 
of  worldly  glory  and  vanity  ?  See  them  elated  with 
pride,  seeking  their  own  interests,  ruling  for  them- 
selves and  not  for  their  subjects,  and  only  anxious  to 
despotise  over  their  brethren.  When  they  have  de- 
luged the  earth  with  blood,  they  sometimes  pretend 
to  express  some  slight  regret  for  the  result ;  but  who 
belicA^es  them  ?  For  so  long  as  they  gain  some  exten- 
sion of  their  dominions  they  are  indifferent  to  human 
life.  Will  they  express  their  penitence  for  the  miseries 
they  have  caused  by  abandoning  one  morsel  of  rapine  ? 
No  !  But  if  they  act  thus,  what  good  Christian  has 
not  a  much  better  right  to  the  title  of  King  than  they 
have  ?  for  good  Christians  at  any  rate  rule  themselves 
for  God's  glory ;  but  these  men  only  oppress  and 
tyrannise  over  others  for  their  own  selfish  advantage." 

Inspired  by  disgust  and  indignation  at  the  govern- 
ments of  his  day,  and  at  the  whole  state  of  civil  society 


The  Roman  Council. 


19 


in  his  day,  the  great  aggression  of  Gregory  VII.  upon 
the  kingly  power  over  the  world,  his  attempt  to  reduce 
it  to  a  subjection  to  a  higher  Sacerdotal  Sovereignty, 
which  was  to  hold  it  in  check  and  exert  a  general 
direction  over  it — this  project  of  a  Universal  Empire, 
of  which  Eome  was  to  be  the  seat,  was  founded  not 
exclusively  upon  the  claims  of  an  order.  There  was 
an  alliance  of  a  much  larger  and  gi'ander  motive,  which 
may  indeed  justly  be  charged  with  utter  visionariness, 
but  which  still  stamps  the  scheme  with  an  aim  with 
which  even  we  at  this  era  of  the  world  may  partly 
sympathise  ;  —  the  subjugation  of  coarse  and  brute 
strength  to  the  yoke  of  a  superior  power,  possessed  of 
larger  interests,  and  a  larger  scope,  and  more  identify- 
ing itself  with  humanity  at  large.  He  was,  indeed, 
one  of  those  men  who  have  a  singular  power  of  making 
themselves  see  what  they  wish  to  see ;  and  as  the 
earthly  monarch  is  in  his  eyes  only  the  embodiment 
of  insolent  force,  so  the  priest  is  only  the  personifica- 
tion of  benevolent  wisdom  ;  "  for  how,"  he  asks,  "  can 
the  Holy  Pontiffs  misgovern,  whose  motives  are  above 
distrust  ?  Do  they  court  glory  ?  does  any  carnal 
ambition  ever  reach  their  sacred  breasts  ?  No  !  they 
think  only  of  the  things  of  God  ;  those  mild  forgiving 
men,  they  care  not  for  offences  against  themselves 
personally,  they  overlook  them  wholly ;  and  offences 
against  God  are  their  only  grief.  ^  "  Alas  !  the  picture 
wants  the  verification  of  history,  and  the  project  of 
this  great  pontiff  has  to  plead  in  its  excuse,  rather  the 
motive  of  it,  than  the  event. 

1  Epist.  1.  viii.  Ep.  21. 


20 


The  Roman  Council. 


But  tlioiigh  the  Empire  of  Justice  which  Gregory 
VII.  proposed  to  himself  may  win  our  historical  sym- 
pathies, and  though  we  may  acknowledge  a  broad 
distinction  between  a  vigorous  practical  grasp  at  the 
reins  of  earthly  government,  in  an  age  when  govern- 
ment was  such  a  disorderly  proceeding,  and  so  entirely 
fell  short  of  its  intended  object  that  the  field  ap- 
peared to  be  open  to  a  new  claimant,  and  to  justify 
the  institution  of  some  general  corrective  power ; — 
though  we  see,  I  say,  a  distinction  between  a  great 
aggression  in  action,  in  its  own  age,  and  under  its  own 
circumstances  :  and  the  same  agression  stiffened  into 
a  dogma ;  still  if  this  aggression  is  made  a  dogma  of, 
it  does  plainly  convert  the  Church  into  a  kingdom  of 
this  world.  As  a  suzerainty  over  the  governments  of 
the  world,  with  the  right  of  deposing  the  heads  of 
those  governments  if  they  disobey,  what  test  of  an 
earthly  kingdom  does  the  Church  not  fulfil  ?  Vain  it 
would  be  to  say,  that  the  ultimate  penalties  of  the 
Church's  kingdom  being  spiritual,  the  Church's  king- 
dom ultimately  depended  on  moral  influence  and  not 
on  physical  force.  Every  kingdom  ultimately  de- 
pends on  moral  influence  and  not  on  physical  force ;  a 
king  rules  a  country  by  his  army ;  bvit  his  army  col- 
lectively is  only  tied  to  him  by  a  moral  tie  :  and  if  it 
deserts  him,  he  has  no  remedy.  The  executive  force 
is  the  immediate  fulcrum  of  government ;  but  the 
ultimate  one  is  the  hold  of  the  monarch  over  that  force  ; 
which  hold  is  only  that  of  good-will,  custom,  and 
mutual  understanding.  Vain,  again,  would  it  be  to 
say  that  the  ultimate  objects  of  the  Church's  kingdom 


The  Roman  Couficil. 


21 


were  spiritual  and  not  worldly.  The  test  of  an  insti- 
tution or  society  being  a  power  of  this  world  and  of 
the  political  order,  is  not  the  nature  of  its  ultimate 
objects,  but  the  nature  of  the  means  it  uses  for  gaining 
those  objects.  If  it  uses  the  regular  forces  of  the  world 
for  this  purpose — armies,  soldiers,  and  military  appara- 
tus, and  declares  that  it  does  this  by  a  right  inherent 
in  itself,  it  is  by  its  own  profession  a  power  or  kingdom 
of  this  world. 

What  is  the  particular  time,  then,  that  the  Church 
of  Rome  has  chosen  for  this  great  renewal,  this  solemn 
republication  of  her  claim  to  temporal  power— her 
claim  to  the  headship  of  all  the  temporal  power  in  the 
world  ?  The  time  is  when  to  all  appearance  every 
vestige  of  the  fact  is  going  to  desert  her ;  when  even 
the  last  relic  of  it,  in  the  sh9,pe  of  a  small  territory, 
which  the  recent  large  absorptions  have  reduced  almost 
to  an  English  county,  is  going  to  be  removed ;  and 
she  is  about  to  become  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  one 
communion  amonfj  others — a  sect  among  sects.  A 
strange  time,  indeed,  it  does  appear  for  the  assertion 
of  this  particular  claim  ;  yet  when  we  compare  the  act 
with  the  situation,  we  may  see  that  it  is  not  without 
the  promise  of  an  immediate  advantage  to  her.  Un- 
doubtedly there  is  in  this  remarkable  step  something 
of  that  spirit  of  longing  for  what  is  lost,  which  is  so 
common  a  trait  of  human  nature— that  desiderium 
and  regret  which  magnifies  the  past,  even  because  it  is 
past,  and  clings  to  it  the  more  because  it  can  never 
return.    The  dream  is  embraced  with  more  longing 


22 


The  Roman  Council. 


than  the  reahty,  though  the  phantom  mocks  the  grasp, 
according  to  the  poetical  description — 

"  Ter  conatus  ibi  collo  dare  bracchia  circum  ; 
Ter  frustra  comprensa  inanus  effugit  imago, 
Par  levibus  ventis,  volucrique  simillima  somno." 

There  may  be  even  something  in  this  act  of  an 
inferior  and  perverse  instinct  of  contradiction,  which 
makes  men  often  just  choose  what  they  cannot  do,  as 
what  they  most  try  to  do ;  that  curious  ambition  to 
be  what  one  cannot  be,  or  when  one  cannot  be  it ; 
which  ignores  some  impassable  chasm  and  imagines 
that  it  is  close  to  its  object,  and  that  it  is  accidental 
that  it  does  not  touch  it,  and  that  it  will  do  so  the 
next  time,  when  in  truth  infinity  is  between.  Is  it 
hence,  then,  that  when  the  temporal  power  of  Rome  is 
over  in  fact,  it  just  then  exists  most  rigidly  and  im- 
periously in  speculation ;  and  that  the  greater  inten- 
sity of  it  as  a  dogma,  compensates  for  the  absence  of 
it  as  a  possession  ? 

It  is  so  ;  and  yet  with  all  this,  may  she  not  attain 
an  immediate  practical  advantage  by  this  act  ?  For  is 
not  this  the  act  of  a  dispossessed  monarch,  who,  upon 
the  eve  of  the  crisis,  collects  all  his  greatness  about 
him,  and  prepares  to  quit  his  throne  with  a  rigorous 
statement  of  his  rights  first  put  forth  ?  It  is  true  a 
statement  or  protest  is,  compared  with  the  reality,  a 
poor  thing ;  but  after  all  he  lives  upon  that  statement  ; 
it  is  all  that  he  has  left,  and  it  does  in  a  sense  give 
him  a  regal  position.  So  I  apprehend  in  the  present 
case ;  the  Papacy  selects  this  very  time  for  making 
this  great  assertion  of  its  temporal  power  because  it 


The  Roman  Coimcil. 


23 


is  just  on  the  verge  of  being  dispossessed  of  it ;  and  it 
is  the  very  eve  of  the  catastrophe  which  elicits  and 
gives  its  significance  and  its  expediency  to  the  demon- 
stration. It  is  a  mode  of  meeting  and  preparing  for 
actual  cominsj  events,  which  Rome  is  much  too  saga- 
cious  not  to  see ;  the  assertion  is  a  mode  of  meeting 
deprivation  ;  it  is  a  provision  made  for  her  own  status 
and  dignity  in  the  new  era  of  denudation  of  externals 
on  which  she  is  entering.  She  brings  together,  at 
parting  with  the  old  era,  all  her  claims  on  this  head ; 
she  fortifies  and  consolidates  a  doctrinal  position  ;  she 
puts  into  definite  and  compact  shape  her  whole  theory 
about  herself;  she  equips  herself  in  the  full  panoply 
of  her  dogma  of  temporal  sovereignty ;  and  to  any 
one  who  asks.  Why  do  you  do  this  just  now,  when 
you  are  going  to  lose  the  fact  ?  she  may  reply,  I  do  it 
because  I  am  going  to  lose  it.  It  would  be  just  a  day 
too  late,  after  the  setting  in  of  dispossession,  to  publish 
from  the  reduced  standing  of  a  mere  voluntary  com- 
munion such  a  challenge ;  the  act  to  be  done  fittingly 
must  be  done  before,  while  she  has  still  a  temporal 
crown  upon  her  head.  That  time  is  now.  And  now, 
accordingly,  just  before  retiring  from  her  temporal 
position,  she  promulgates  her  statement  of  rights  re- 
garding it.  That  assertion  keeps  up  a  connection 
with  it.  She  gains  the  effect  of  an  assertion  upon 
her  followers  ;  there  is  a  rank  contained  in  that 
assertion, — the  rank  of  a  great  claimant  of  power ; 
there  is  a  sort  of  continuance  of  the  situation  itself,  in 
keeping  up  a  right  to  it.  It  is  the  link  with  the  past. 
It  is  true  there  will  be  something  visionary,  we  might 


24 


The  Roman  Council. 


almost  say  fanatical  in  look,  in  the  president  of  a 
voluntary  religious  communion,  an  ordinary  citizen,  a 
subject,  perhaps,  of  the  Italian  Government,  perhaps 
— for  the  rumour  did  obtain— of  our  own,  claiming 
formally  to  be  the  head  of  all  the  governments  of  this 
world  ;  as  a  new  claim  it  would  be  grotesque  only  ; 
but  the  claim  of  the  Papacy  represents  a  real  history ; 
it  has  been  yielded  to,  it  has  been  exercised.  A  claim 
which  is  no  more  than  obsolete  may  be  said  to  be 
worth  something,  and  to  be  as  such  a  substantial  and 
valuable  property.  It  represents  former  possession. 
Rome  issues  out  of  her  own  gates,  taking  her  history 
with  her ;  she  collects  her  prestige,  she  gathers  up  the 
past,  she  calls  in  all  the  antecedents  of  her  temporal 
greatness  ;  she  stereotypes  memory  in  decrees  ;  she 
condenses  history  into  dogma ;  she  surrounds  herself 
symbolically  with  all  the  insignia  of  her  secular  glory  ; 
the  archives  are  exhibited,  the  rolls  ar«  displayed,  the 
memorials  of  her  triumphs  and  successes  come  in  pro- 
cession before  us ;  great  wars  and  great  diplomacies, 
great  alliances,  great  battles,  are  all  seen  by  reflection 
in  this  list  of  dry  decrees,  which  embalms  the  dignity 
of  the  past ;  a  thousand  banners  and  escutcheons  are 
hid  in  one  of  these  sentences,  which  makes  the  state- 
ment of  her  dominion,  in  order  to  serve  as  a  support 
to  her  in  the  loss  of  the  fact. 

It  is  in  vain,  however — in  vain  in  the  long  run. 
The  stream  of  time  is  too  strong  for  such  memories  to 
divert  it.  The  whole  weight  of  facts,  the  whole  weight 
of  truth,  is  soberly  but  irresistibly  against  this  claim. 
This  is  a  point  on  which  Christianity  and  civilisation, 


The  Roman  Council. 


25 


which  look  suspiciously  at  each  other  at  times,  entirely 
join  hands ;  they  speak  one  language  ;  they  abjure 
with  one  mouth  force  as  the  property  of  the  Church, 
and  force  as  applicable  to  religion  at  all.  The  earth 
must  roll  back  on  its  axis  again  before  the  moral  sense 
of  society  recants  on  these  questions  ;  nay,  the  more 
the  world  advances  and  the  better  civil  government 
becomes,  the  more  clear  will  be  the  distinction  between 
the  scope  of  civil  government  and  the  scope  of  the 
Church.  The  Gospel  cannot  recant  and  retract  one  of 
its  laws.  Although  an  immediate  advantage,  then, 
may  be  gained  by  an  act  of  defiance  which  revives  and 
casts  in  the  teeth  of  the  whole  world  every  pretension 
to  temporal  power  ever  made,  is  not  the  Church  of 
Eome  storing  up  difficulties  for  the  future  by  it  ? 
Will  not  such  a  violent  and  forced  transplantation 
from  a  past  era  make  a  very  awkward  and  unmanage- 
able insulation  in  the  present,  and  these  dogmas 
become  a  millstone  about  her  neck  ?  What  does  the 
Council  bequeath,  then,  to  the  Church  by  this  act,  but 
a  tremendous  difficulty — the  difficulty  of  resisting  the 
double  law  of  the  Gospel  and  of  civilisation, — a  rock, 
to  strike  against  which  is  to  jar  her  whole  fabric  ?  In 
what  light  can  such  an  opposition  to  well-ascertained 
principles  appear,  but  as  a  fanatical  development  of 
the  Papacy,  surviving  its  wisdom,  and  trusting  itself 
blindly  to  the  arms  of  a  single  close  corporation,  as  its 
guide  and  director.  People  will  look  for  the  old 
sagacity  of  the  head  of  Christendom,  and  see  only  an 
enthusiast,  at  cross  purposes  with  society.  The  Papacy 
is  indeed  in  a  dilemma  in  the  matter  of  her  own 


26 


The  Roman  Council. 


defence.  It  needs  an  organised  phalanx  for  its  sup- 
port, and  this  powerful  corporation  supplies  that  need  ; 
but  if  it  has  the  benefit  of  this  close  corporation,  it 
must  have  the  disadvantage  of  it  too.  For  close  cor- 
porations are  proverbially  inaccessible  to  new  ideas, 
and  blind  to  new  facts ;  they  are  averse  to  any  en- 
largement of  mind  from  without,  and  their  natural 
tendency  is  to  be  the  whole  world  to  themselves.  Such 
a  guide  must  be,  with  ever  so  much  strength,  a  danger- 
ous one  ;  and  indeed  it  is  evident  that  the  action  of  the 
Papacy  was  much  freer  and  more  natural  in  the  Middle 
Ages  than  it  is  now.  Then  it  was  seized  hold  of  by  the 

♦  different  currents  of  the  Church,  just  as  a  government 
is  now  in  popular  states,  and  it  had  a  free  life  in  the 
open  air  of  the  Church.  Now  it  is  an  immured  insti- 
tution, living  in  walls,  and  worked  by  a  close  cor- 
poration. This  is  an  artificial  system,  and  a  morbid 
system ;  when  a  tremendous  strain  is  thrown  upon 
the  centre  to  work  the  whole,  without  the  supply  of 
blood  from  the  extremities.  This  corporation  has  one 
recipe  against  all  diflaculties — organisation;  but  or- 

■  ganisation  cannot  do  everything  ;  organisation  cannot 
stop  the  light  which  the  progress  of  the  world  has 
thrown,  and  must  further  throw,  upon  the  respective 
ends  of  Church  and  State.  Those  who  are  on  the  side 
of  Rome,  then,  in  her  controversy  with  the  infidel, 
those  among  us  even  who  approximate  critically  to 
her  distinctive  theology,  will  not  be  able  to  follow  her 
into  her  moral  code.  In  one  of  these  dogmas  her 
Infallibility  splits  upon  a  rock  of  morals  ;  in  the  other 
it  splits  upon  the  rock  of  Scripture.    Her  Infallibility 


The  Roman  Council. 


27 


is  risked  by  such  an  encounter  with  definite  and  plain 
truths.  Civil  justice  and  the  rights  of  conscience 
belong  so  much  to  the  morality  of  society  now,  that 
they  must  falsify  any  moral  creed  opposed  to  them. 

Thus  do  the  human  incrustations  upon,  and  the 
human  props  to,  Christianity,  disappear  at  the  ordained 
time,  and  leave  Christianity  to  itself.  We  live  amid 
closing  histories,  and  amid  falling  institutions ;  there 
is  an  axe  laid  at  the  root  of  many  trees  ;  foundations 
of  fabrics  have  been  long  giving  way,  and  the  visible 
tottering  commences.  "  The  earth  quakes  and  the 
heavens  do  tremble."  The  sounds  of  great  downfalls 
and  great  disruptions  come  from  different  quarters ; 
old  combinations  start  asunder ;  a  great  crash  is  heard, 
and  it  is  some  vast  mass  that  has  just  broken  off  from 
the  rock,  and  gone  down  into  the  chasm  below.  A 
great  volume  of  time  is  now  shutting,  the  roll  is  folded 
up  for  the  registry,  and  we  must  open  another.  Never 
again — never,  though  ages  pass  away — never  any  more 
under  the  heavens  shall  be  seen  forms  and  fabrics,  and 
structures,  and  combinations  that  we  have  seen.  They 
have  taken  their  place  among  departed  shapes  and 
organisms  deposited  in  that  vast  mausoleum  which 
receives  sooner  or  later  all  human  creations.  The 
mould  in  which  they  were  made  is  broken,  and  their 
successors  will  be  casts  from  a  new  mould.  The  world 
is  evidently  at  the  end  of  one  era,  and  is  entering  upon 
another;  but  there  will  remain  the  Christian  Creed 
and  the  Christian  Church,  to  enlighten  ignorance,  to 
fight  with  sin,  and  to  conduct  men  to  eternity. 


THE  PHARISEES. 


Matthew  T.  20. 

"  For  I  say  unto  you,  that  except  your  righteousness  shall  exceed  the 
righteousness  of  the  scribes  and  Pharisees,  ye  shall  in  no  case 
enter  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven." 

'T^HERE  is  a  fundamental  difference  between  the 
religious  and  historical  standards  of  character.  To 
an  historian  a  man  appears  only  as  a  collection  of  dif- 
ferent qualities :  he  has  good  habits,  he  has  bad  habits ; 
he  is  virtuous  here,  he  is  vicious  there.  This  is  the 
man's  historical  character ;  he  has  presented  himself  as 
this  mixture  to  the  world  ;  and  the  historian  has  only 
to  do  with  character  as  a  phenomenon,  or  collection  of 
facts.  Its  moral  unity  is  nothing  to  him.  Is  this 
man  a  good  or  bad  man  ?  He  does  not  trouble  him- 
self with  that  question.  On  the  other  hand,  religion 
is  not  content  with  a  collection  of  qualities,  but  seeks 
the  moral  unity  of  the  being.  Religion  seeks  a  good 
being  as  distinguished  from  a  bad  being. 

A\Tien  we  are  engaged,  then,  in  the  search  after 
true  goodness,  particular  virtues  fail  as  a  test.  They 
are  like  mountain  paths,  which  are  very  clear  and  weU 
marked  for  a  certain  way,  and  then  suddenly  stop.  They 
do  not  give  the  clue  to  this  unity.  These  are  what  we 


The  Pharisees. 


29 


call  natural  virtues.  They  are  beautiful,  they  are 
fascinating.  Yet  how  deep  is  the  treachery  of  nature ; 
as  we  find  when  we  come  across  some  obstinate  lump 
of  evil  that  will  not  give  way.  It  is  a  disappointment 
we  cannot  help — so  naturally  do  we  expect  a  moral 
unity  in  the  being  where  we  see  so  much  that  is 
beautiful — thinking  that  it  must  go  on  to  a  whole  ; 
but  it  does  not ;  it  stops  short  ;  it  is  a  fragment ; 
something  evil  succeeds,  and  breaks  up  the  concord  of 
the  character  ;  not  mere  imperfection,  but  evil. 

Again,  imitation,  as  well  as  nature,  is  a  source  of 
particular  virtues ; — the  virtues  of  a  class,  the  virtues 
of  an  age.  This  is  different  from  the  sacred  principle 
of  example,  which  implies  selection,  and  extraction  out 
of  the  general  mass  of  human  conduct ;  imitation  takes 
society  as  a  whole,  and  goes  along  with  it.  These 
virtues,  then,  are  too  compulsory^  to  test  the  man  ; 
society  imposes  them ;  he  must  adopt  its  standard  if 
he  wants  to  be  at  peace  with  it.  Instances  might  be 
given  of  virtues  which  are  so  absolutely  necessary  in 
particular  classes,  that  the  individual  has  hardly  any 
option  in  the  matter. 

But  again,  besides  the  virtues  of  insensible  and 
unconscious,  there  are  those  of  systematic  imitation ; 
when  men  who  possess  power  of  will  and  perseverance, 
as  well  as  insight  into  the  structure  of  society,  see  the 
great  importance  of  certain  virtues,  their  pre-eminent 
public  utility,  their  just  rank,  and  deservedly  high 
estimation ;  when  they  set  them  up  as  a  standard  in 
their  own  minds,  and  cultivate  them  ;  but  do  so  at  the 
same  time  upon  a  basis  of  secondary  motives.  These 


30 


The  Pharisees. 


virtues,  then,  are  real  virtues  in  this  sense,  that  they 
are  real  habits,  that  they  are  got  possession  of  as  modes 
of  action.  But  are  they  tests  of  the  goodness  of  the 
man  ?  It  is  of  the  very  structure  of  morality  that  it 
demands  a  motive  as  well  as  acts.  Let  us  take  a 
person  practising  a  set  of  virtues,  such  as  justice, 
industry,  public  spirit,  benevolence,  and  the  like,  upon 
a  ground  connected  with  the  life  of  the  soul — i.e., 
simply  because  it  is  right — his  practice  is  immediately 
invested  with  the  unearthly  greatness  of  its  motive ; 
it  is  founded  upon  a  basis  of  awe  and  mystery,  upon 
the  instincts  of  the  soul,  its  presages,  its  prophecies, 
its  sense  of  trial  and  of  a  destination  for  future  worlds 
of  existence.  But  let  us  take  a  person  practising  such 
virtues  because  they  are  popular,  because  the  age 
requires  them,  because  they  are  part  of  the  machinery 
of  success  in  the  world,  and  though  the  virtues  them- 
selves are  the  same,  it  is  evident  that  the  possessor  of 
them  is  a  very  different  person  from  the  other.  Ap- 
peals from  such  a  quarter  as  the  prospects  of  the  soul, 
are  like  shadows  beckoning  to  us  from  a  distance ;  they 
are  wanting  in  tangible  force  as  addresses  to  the  spring 
of  action  within  us,  unless  they  are  supplemented  by 
an  extraordinary  strength  of  conscience.  But  any 
motives  connected  with  this  world  wrap  the  man  so 
completely  round,  they  seize  hold  of  him  with  such  a 
firm  grasp,  they  are  so  thoroughly  entered  into,  and 
all  their  strength  sucked  out  by  him,  that  nothing  is 
wanting  to  their  force  and  power  as  motives ;  which 
motives,  therefore,  in  reality  make  the  virtues  which 
they  so  immensely  facilitate,  and  are  almost  the  very 


The  Pharisees. 


3^ 


substance  of  them — e.g.  revenge  might  make  an  act 
of  marvellous  courage  no  difficulty  at  all  to  a  man. 
And  when  self-interest  is  embraced  as  a  strong  passion 
by  the  mind,  it  has  a  like  facilitating  consequence  as 
regards  the  possession  of  various  virtues.  A  man  who 
has  his  own  interest  strongly  before  him  can  make 
vindictive  and  malicious  feelings  give  way  to  it ;  that 
is  to  say,  he  can  acquire  with  facility  a  habit  of  for- 
giveness. The  same  motive  can  give  him  gravity  and 
application,  and  can  preserve  him  from  many  fri- 
volities, weaknesses,  and  caprices.  One  great  vice 
produces  many  virtues.  It  attains  successes  which 
are  missed  by  the  frail  and  imperfect  good  who  have 
not  strength  to  form  these  habits  or  avoid  these  in- 
firmities,  simply  because  their  high  motives  are  weak 
and  fluctuating ;  the  lower  motives  are  strong  and 
steady.  Society  is  thus  able  to  produce  men  who  are 
fabrics  of  virtues,  who  do  not,  like  the  volatile,  leave 
their  virtues  to  chance,  but  adopt  them  upon  a  system  ; 
but  who  at  the  same  time  may  be  said  to  possess  the 
loan  of  them,  rather  than  the  fee-simple  of  them — who 
have  the  use  of  them,  a  fructifying  use,  without  a 
true  property  in  them.  They  are  outside  of  him. 
The  outward  possessor  is  not  their  moral  possessor. 
These  fabrics  include,  when  we  inspect  them,  all  those 
virtues  which  are  consistent  with  a  certain  aim  in  life, 
and  exclude  those  which  are  inconsistent  with  it. 
Just  so  much  in  quantity  and  kind  as  coincides  with 
this  scope  is  admitted ;  what  is  in  disagreement  with 
it  is  excluded.  They  are,  to  borrow  an  expression 
from  the  poetry  of  architecture,  virtues  in  service ; 


32 


The  Pharisees. 


they  work  within  a  strict  inclosure,  which,  whatever 
apparent  freedom  they  may  have,  really  bounds  their 
action ;  they  are  imprisoned  within  the  outline  of  an 
original  plan.  I  use  the  term  virtue  of  course  here 
in  the  sense  in  which  it  is  often  used,  which  is  ex- 
clusive of  the  motive,  and  only  denotes  certain  lines 
of  action. 

Particular  virtues  then,  whether  they  are  natural 
virtues,  or  virtues  of  imitation,  do  not  make  the  being 
good.  There  must  be  some  general  virtue  underneath 
all  these,  which  consecrates  and  roots  in  him  the  par- 
ticular ones,  and  makes  them  his  moral  property. 
Aristotle's  general  virtue  then  holds  good  as  a  safe- 
guard against  the  crudity  and  wildness  of  more  natural 
goodness,  but  fails  as  a  security  against  subtle  egotism 
and  selfishness.  It  secures  discipline  of  some  sort  ; 
but  there  may  be  plenty  of  discipline  upon  a  corrupt 
basis.  It  does  not  command  the  motives.  The  Gospel, 
however,  was  a  republication  of  the  law  of  nature,  as 
in  other  respects,  so  in  this  that  we  are  speaking  of — 
I  mean  with  respect  to  the  composition  and  structure 
of  moral  goodness — that  it  consisted  of  a  general  virtue 
as  the  root  of  particular  virtues  ;  and  the  Gospel  gave 
a  general  virtue  which  commanded  the  motives, — viz.. 
Love.  Love  in  the  Gospel  sense  is  that  general  virtue 
which  covers  the  motives ;  like  some  essence  which 
we  can  hardly  get  at,  it  is  not  itself  so  much  as  it  is 
the  goodness  of  everything  else  in  us ;  not  a  virtue  so 
much  as  a  substratum  of  all  virtues ;  the  virtue  of 
virtue,  the  goodness  of  goodness.  It  is  what  gives 
the  character  of  acceptableness  to  all  our  actions ;  on 


The  Pharisees. 


33 


the  other  hand  its  absence  is  that  great  withdrawal 
which  leaves  all  action  dead  and  worthless,  and  the  whole 
man  a  rotten  branch  deserted  by  the  sap  of  the  true  vine. 

With  these  introductory  remarks  I  come  to  the 
subject  of  the  text — viz.,  the  Gospel  language  relating 
to  the  Pharisees.  Christ's  denunciation  of  the  Pharisees 
is  a  part  of  the  language  of  the  Gospels  which  strikes  us 
as  very  remarkable.  It  is  language  which  is  altogether 
tremendous  ;  it  arrests  us,  it  astonishes  us,  it  makes  us 
ask  the  question — What  was  there  in  these  men  which 
made  them  deserve  this  language  ?  Such  language,  as 
applied  to  a  class  which  might  be  called  a  religious 
class,  paying  such  attention  to  many  parts  of  religious 
practice,  free  from  sensual  vice,  very  zealous  and 
jealous  for  the  Mosaic  law,  and  the  worship  of  the  one 
true  God,  was  totally  new  to  inspiration.  We  want 
an  explanation  of  it.  The  preceding  observations  then 
ajjpear  to  give  some  clue  to  one.  This  language  is 
part  of  the  judicial  language  of  the  first  Advent. 
Christ's  first  Advent  was  not  indeed  a  judgment  of  the 
world  in  a  final  sense,  but  it  was  a  judgment  in  this 
sense,  that  it  laid  the  foundations  of  the  final  judg- 
ment. He  came  to  lay  the  foundation  of  a  great 
separation  of  the  bad  from  the  good,  the  tares  from 
the  wheat,  the  chafi"  from  the  wheat ;  He  came  to  lay 
the  foundations  of  a  perfectly  virtuous  society,  which, 
begun  here  in  struggle  and  imperfection,  was  to  emerge 
pure  and  triumphant  in  another  world,  and  live 
throughout  eternity.  It  was  essential  for  this  purpose 
that  some  great  decision  should  be  made  as  to  what 
constituted  a  good  being  as  distinguished  from  a  bad 

D 


34 


The  Pharisees. 


being  ;  as  to  what  true  goodness  was.  It  was  essential 
that  a  great  revelation  should  be  made  of  human  char- 
acter, a  great  disclosure  of  its  disguises  and  pretences  ; 
unmasking  the  evil  in  it,  and  extricating  and  bringing 
to  light  the  good.  But  how  was  this  decision  which 
divided  good  character  from  bad  character  to  be  made? 
In  no  other  way  than  by  declaring  what  was  the  very 
structure  of  morality — viz.,  the  one  just  mentioned,  that 
particular  virtues  are  nothing  without  the  general  ones; 
that  is  to  say,  by  a  republication  of  this  great  truth  of 
nature  in  a  final  and  improved  form.  By  this  criterion 
then,  Christ  made  that  decision,  distinguishing  between 
good  and  bad,  which  he  came  at  His  first  Advent  to 
make, — that  great  preliminary  judgment.  There  is  a 
point  in  the  block  of  stone  which,  being  struck,  the 
mass  parts  asunder  in  its  proper  and  natural  sections. 
Particular  virtues  never  would  give  the  key  to  this 
division ;  but,  struck  upon  one  fundamental  virtue, 
the  whole  block  of  humanity  fell  asunder  in  its  true 
divisions,  and  there  was  a  judgment. 

The  Pharisees  then  were  the  sample  of  mankind 
which  came  before  Him  for  the  application  of  this 
criterion,  and  at  the  same  time  the  great  example  for 
the  promulgation  of  it.  The  Pharisees  were  not  mere 
formalists,  mere  ceremonialists.  Our  Lord  did  not  deny 
them  activity  ;  we  know  that  they  worked  ;  that  they 
worked  in  public,  in  the  thoroughfares  and  in  the  market- 
places ;  that  they  worked  hard  for  the  spread  of  their 
own  religion  ;  that  they  compassed  heaven  and  earth 
to  make  one  proselyte  ;  we  know  that  they  had  a  fiery 
courage  of  their  own,  and  that  they  headed  mobs 


The  Pharisees. 


35 


against  the  Eoman  Governor.    But  their  activity  had 
a.  selfish  root,  and  a  selfish  scope,  while  at  the  same 
time  they  disguised  this  motive  from  themselves,  and 
this  constituted  their  hypocrisy.     They  were  that 
combination  of  earnestness  and  ambition,  in  which 
earnestness,  by  an  assimilative  process,  turns  into 
ambition,  and  is  the  feeder  of  the  great  passion.  Ee- 
ligion  is  so  much  a  part  of  our  nature  that  even 
the   pride   of  man   cannot  culminate  to  the  full 
without   it.     Eeligion   undoubtedly  makes  him  a 
greater  being ;  if,  then,  he  grasps  like  a  robber  at  the 
prize,  and  takes  a  short  cut  to  the  end  without  the 
humbling  means,  he  does  become  the  prouder  for  it. 
And  then  in  its  turn,  religion  grovels  in  the  dust.  In 
the  Pharisees  it  allied  itself  with  the  pride  of  life,  in 
its  most  childish  and  empty  forms, — it  coveted  state 
and  precedence,  and  became  a  mockery  and  the  very 
slave  of  earth.    The  Gospel  then  was  an  active  reli- 
gion, and  Pharisaism  was  an  active  religion  too  ;  par- 
ticular virtues  were  common  to  both ;  but  the  Gospel 
was  an  active  religion  founded  upon  love,  and  Phari- 
saism was  an  active  religion  founded  upon  egotism. 
"  Verily,  I  say  unto  you,  they  have  their  reward." 
Upon  this   one  fundamental  point   then  mankind 
divided  into  two  parts ;  the  great  block  split  asunder, 
and  our  Lord  judicially  declared  and  announced  this 
division — the  division  of  mankind  upon  this  law  and 
by  this  criterion. 

But  again,  Pharisaism  was  a  new  evil  character  in 
the  world  ;  not  that  the  elements  of  it  had  not  existed 
before,  for  it  is  part  of  human  nature  ;  but  as  a  fully 


36 


The  Pharisees. 


developed  character  and  form  of  evil  it  was  new.  The 
prophets  attacked  gross  vices,  shameless  sensuality, 
robbery,  avarice,  open  rapacity,  crying  tyranny  and 
oppression,  insolent  injustice  and  ^dolation  of  common 
rights,  the  flagrant  abuses  and  corruptions  of  society. 
"Thy  princes,"  they  said  to  Jerusalem,  "are  re- 
bellious and  companions  of  thieves  ;  they  declare  their 
sin ;  they  hide  it  not ;  run  ye  to  and  fro  through  the 
streets,  and  see  now  and  know,  and  seek  in  the  broad 
places  thereof  if  ye  can  find  a  man,  if  there  be  any 
that  executeth  judgment ;  every  one  loveth  gifts  and 
foUoweth  after  rewards ;  they  have  altogether  broken 
the  yoke  and  burst  the  bonds."  In  a  word,  they  at- 
tacked open  sin.  Old  Jewish  sin  was  heathen  sin — 
it  was  open.  The  heathen  defied  the  law  within  him. 
There  was  no  disguise  in  Paganism.  The  glories  cupi- 
ditas  was  brandished  aloft ;  the  conquerors  said  they 
wanted  to  conquer  the  world ;  the  covetous  said  they 
wanted  to  be  rich  ;  as  Cicero  said  of  Crassus,  he  would 
jump  in  the  forum — saltaret  in  foro — if  any  new  de- 
for  making  money  occurred  to  him ;  neither  said 
that  they  wanted,  the  one  power  and  the  other  wealth, 
for  the  sake  of  doing  good.  The  old  heathen  spirit 
boldly  pursued  appetite  ;  it  said,  "  Life  is  short,  we 
know  not  where  we  are  going ;  and  while  we  live  let 
us  live ;  let  us  live  gloriously,  or  luxuriously,  or 
sensually,  or  pompously,  as  our  taste  happens  to  be." 

Now  we  cannot  say  that  because  a  new  evil  char- 
acter rose  up  in  the  world,  the  old  has  disappeared. 
There  are  no  extinct  species  in  the  world  of  evil ;  but 
Pharisaism  was  not  the  less  a  new  form  of  evil  in  the 


The  Pharisees. 


37 


world,  which  did  not  exist  to  attract  attention  in  the 
days  of  the  prophets.  It  was  a  new  development  of 
evil  in  the  world  when  a  class,  socially  and  religiously 
respectable,  was  discovered  to  be  corrupt  at  the  root. 
Evil  which  produced  evil,  which  issued  in  disorder  and 
crime,  was  an  old  fact ;  but  evil  which  was  the  parent 
of  outward  discipline  and  goodness  was  new.  It  was 
new  that  man  could  work  his  own  will  and  obtain  his 
own  ends  by  this  medium  ;  and  that  that  which  once 
required  vices  could  now  be  done  by  virtues.  This 
was  a  great  discovery ;  it  was  a  great  improvement,  so 
to  call  it,  in  the  science  of  evil ;  it  was  a  new  method, 
analogous  to  new  methods  in  philosophy,  new  com- 
binations in  physics,  mechanics,  or  art,  w^hich  operate 
like  successful  surprises  in  effecting  their  object.  It 
was  a  new  stroke  of  policy  in  evil,  like  a  new  principle 
in  trade  or  economical  science.  It  was  a  new  revela- 
tion of  the  power  and  character  of  evil  that  it  was  not 
confined  to  its  simple  and  primitive  ways — its  direct 
resistances  to  conscience ;  but  that  it  had  at  its  dis- 
posal a  very  subtle  and  intricate  machinery  for  attain- 
ing what  the  simple  methods  could  not  reach.  It  was 
a  revelation  of  human  nature  that  it  contained  all  this 
machinery,  this  duplicity  of  action,  and  working  of 
wheel  within  wheel.  And  it  was  fit, — there  was  a 
special  aptness  in  the  task,  that  He  "  who  knew  what 
was  in  man,"  should  summarily  and  decisively  arraign 
this  new  form  of  evil  upon  its  appearance  in  the  world ; 
that  He  should  at  once  stamp  upon  it  that  ineffaceable 
stigma  which  it  has  never  been  able  to  erase.  He 
did  this  in  His  denunciation  of  Pharisaism.    He  dis- 


38 


The  Pharisees. 


closed  the  enormous  elasticity  of  evil,  the  secret  of  its 
self-accommodating  nature,  its  fertility,  its  flexibility, 
its  capacity  for  acting  under  disguises.  And  He  who 
saw  the  imposture  and  exposed  it,  knew  that  it  must 
be  exposed  in  no  doubtful  terms  ;  and  that  less  severity 
would  not  have  answered  His  purpose,  and  left  the 
mark  which  He  designed. 

For,  indeed,  not  only  was  this  a  new  form  of  evil, 
ljut  it  was  a  worse  type  than  the  old  and  known  ones. 
It  matters  not,  indeed,  if  the  will  is  wholly  depraved, 
whether  it  be  an  open  rebel  or  a  cunning  one  ;  and  the 
rich  man  in  the  parable  who  said  straightforwardly  to 
his  own  soul — Henceforth  do  nothing  but  please  thy- 
self, was  reprobated  as  much  as  the  Pharisee.  But 
when  the  will  is  not  radically  bad,  it  is  evident  that, 
in  the  Gospel  estimate,  the  evil  which  is  the  excess  of 
appetite  and  passion  is  not  so  bad  as  the  evil  which 
corrupts  virtue.  The  Gospel  is  tender  to  faults  of  mere 
weakness  and  impulse;  it  watches  over  the  outbursts 
of  a  vehement  and  passionate  nature,  to  see  if,  when 
the  storm  is  past,  it  cannot  elicit  the  element  of  good 
which  lies  underneath ;  it  breathes  the  purest  compas- 
sion for  the  victim  of  impulse,  it  regards  him  as  the 
future  penitent,  and  its  hopeful  eye  is  quick  to  catch 
the  first  symptoms  of  a  better  mind.  But  while  this 
is  its  temper  toward  natural  frailty,  the  Gospel  casts  an 
obdurate  and  inflexible  look  upon  false  goodness  ;  and 
for  this  very  reason,  that  false  goodness  is  in  the  very 
nature  of  the  case  an  unrepentant  type  of  evil.  For 
why  should  a  man  repent  of  his  goodness  ?  He  may 
well  repent  indeed  of  its  falsehood  ;  but  unhappily  the 


The  Pharisees. 


39 


falsehood  of  it  is  just  the  thing  he  does  not  see,  and 
which  he  cannot  see  by  the  very  law  of  his  character. 
The  Pharisee  did  not  know  he  was  a  Pharisee ;  if  he 
had  known  it,  he  would  not  have  been  a  Pharisee. 
The  victim  of  passion  then  may  be  converted,  the  gay, 
the  thoughtless,  or  the  ambitious ;  he  whom  human 
glory  has  intoxicated,  he  whom  the  show  of  life  has 
ensnared,  he  whom  the  pleasures  of  sense  have  capti- 
vated— they  may  be  converted,  any  one  of  these — 
but  who  is  to  convert  the  hypocrite  ?  He  does  not 
know  he  is  a  hypocrite ;  he  cannot  upon  the  very  basis 
of  his  character ;  he  must  think  himself  sincere  ;  and 
the  more  he  is  in  the  shackles  of  his  own  character,  i.e., 
the  greater  hypocrite  he  is,  the  more  sincere  he  must 
think  himself  A  hypocrite  in  the  vulgar  sense  knows 
that  he  is  one,  because  he  deceives  another  ;  but  the 
Scripture  hypocrite  is  the  deceived  too ;  and  the  de- 
ceived cannot  possibly  know  that  he  is  deceived;  if  he 
did,  he  would  not  be  deceived.  An  impenetrable  wall 
hides  him  from  himself,  and  he  is  safe  from  his  own 
scrutiny.  "  Evil,"  as  has  been  said,  "  ventures  not  to 
be  itself;  it  is  seized  with  a  restless  flight  from  itself, 
and  conceals  itself  behind  any  appearance  of  good." 

Hence,  then,  that  great  and  conspicuous  point  of 
view  in  which  the  Pharisee  always  figures  in  the  Gos- 
pel— viz.  as  incapable  of  repentance.  Self-knowledge 
is  the  first  condition  of  repentance,  and  he  did  not 
possess  self-knowledge ;  and  therefore  it  was  said  to 
him  :  "The  publicans  and  the  harlots  go  into  the  king- 
dom of  God  before  you;"  because  the  publicans  and 
the  harlots  knew  their  guilt,  and  he  did  not.    He  had 


40 


The  Pharisees. 


degraded  conscience  below  the  place  which  the  heathen 
gave  it.  The  heathen,  at  anyrate,  allowed  it  to  pro- 
test. There  is,  indeed,  nothing  in  all  history  more 
remarkable  than  the  wild  and  fitful  voice  of  the  heathen 
conscience,  which  would  suddenly  wake  up  out  of  its 
trance  to  pierce  heaven  with  its  cries,  invoking  divine 
vengeance  upon  some  crime.  The  heathen  conscience 
was  an  accuser,  a  tormentor ;  it  brooded  over  men ;  it 
stung  them ;  it  haunted  them  in  their  dreams  ;  they 
started  out  of  their  sleep  with  horror  in  their  counte- 
nances, wanting  to  fly  from  it,  and  not  knowing 
where  to  fly ;  while  the  more  they  fled  away  from  it 
the  more  its  arrows  pursued  them,  wandering  over  the 
wide  earth,  and  seeking  rest  in  vain.  Or  if  they  tried 
to  drown  its  voice  in  excitement  or  passion,  it  still 
watched  its  moment,  and  would  be  heard,  poisoning 
their  revehy,  and  awakening  them  to  misery  and  des- 
pair. Compare  with  this  wild,  this  dreadful,  but  still 
this  great  visitant  from  another  world,  the  Pharisaic 
conscience — pacified,  domesticated,  brought  into  har- 
ness— a  tame  conscience,  converted  into  a  manageable 
and  applauding  companion,  vulgarised,  humiliated,  and 
chained ;  with  a  potent  sway  over  mint,  anise,  and 
cummin,  but  no  power  over  the  heart — and  what  do  we 
see  but  a  dethroned  conscience  deserted  by  every  ves- 
tige of  rank  and  majesty.  Our  Lord  treated  the  Phari- 
sees then  with  the  coldness  due  to  those  who  were 
without  the  element  of  repentance — "How  can  ye,  being 
evil,  speak  good  things  ? "  How  can  the  bad  be  good  ? 
and  with  the  holy  sarcasm  that  they  that  were  whole 
needed  not  a  physician.  He  left  them  to  themselves. 


The  Pharisees. 


41 


We  observe,  therefore,  further,  and  the  fact  is 
remarkable,  that  not  only  did  our  Lord  denounce  the 
Pharisees,  but  that  they  were  the  only  class  which  He 
did  denounce.  He  condemned  all  sin,  indeed.  He 
sentenced  by  implication,  in  each  precept  to  purity, 
to  temperance,  to  charity,  to  humility,  every  impure 
man,  every  drunkard  and  glutton,  every  malignant 
man,  and  every  proud  man  ;  but  looking  on  His  atti- 
tude toward  Jewish  society,  and  the  diflferent  portions 
and  sections  of  it,  we  find  that  when  He  came  to  actual 
classes  of  men  in  it,  the  Pharisees  were  the  only  class 
which  He  cared  or  thought  it  appertaining  to  His  work 
and  mission  publicly  to  expose.  He  singled  tlicm  out 
of  the  whole  mixed  mass  of  Jewish  society  for  this 
purpose.  Why  did  He  do  this  ?  Why  did  He  thus 
confine  to  one  channel  the  great  current  of  His  con- 
demnation ?  Was  there  any  want  of  vice  in  the 
Jewish  community  ?  Was  there  any  want  of  variety 
of  vice  ? — None  ;  there  was  plenty  of  it ;  plenty  of  all 
kinds  of  it.  There  was  avarice,  exaction,  luxury ; 
there  were  the  pride  and  pomp  of  life  ;  there  was  sedi- 
tion, violence,  rebellion,  murder.  AU  these  vices  of 
the  individual  and  of  the  nation  come  out  in  the  very 
disclosures  of  the  Gospels  themselves.  But  all  this 
vice  had  been  condemned  before  ;  the  page  of  prophecy 
is  one  continuous  reprobation  of  such  vice  as  this. 
The  Divine  censure  then  had  done  its  work  with 
respect  to  this  whole  form  of  sin.  But  there  was  a 
new  sin  in  the  world  which  no  prophets  had  rebuked, 
because  it  was  not  a  fact  of  their  days.  It  was  the  child 
of  a  later  age,  when  the  opening  consciousness  of  nature 


42 


The  Pharisees. 


revealed  the  stringency  of  the  law  within ;  and,  as  it 
did  so,  suggested  the  exchange  of  open  resistance  to  it 
for  evasion ;  when  the  evil  nature  awakened  to  the 
subtlety  of  its  own  interior,  and  grasped  the  new  art 
of  retaining  motives  and  yet  producing  virtues. 

The  Prophet,  then,  who  went  before  our  Lord,  even 
His  Forerunner  that  ushered  Him  in,  might  denounce 
old  sin,  but  it  belonged  to  Him  especially  to  smite  the 
new  evil  character.  John  the  Baptist  rebuked  the 
audacious  licentiousness  of  king  and  noble  ;  but  He 
Himself  turned  from  the  gross  spectacle  without  a  word. 
He  would  not  look  at  it.  He  averted  His  eyes  from 
the  undisguised  scene.  Others  had  dealt  with  it.  He 
passed  by  the  crowd  with  its  low  vice  ;  He  passed  by 
the  Court  of  Herod  with  its  splendid  and  luxurious 
vice ;  He  looked  apart  from  the  wretched  victims  of 
open  sin  to  strike  with  His  anathema  those  who  made 
a  gain  of  their  virtues ;  He  turned  away  from  the 
thoughtless  passion  of  the  dissolute  to  judge  the  self- 
discipline  of  the  vile.  Once  only  did  he  send  a  mes- 
sage to  Herod,  and  then  it  was  not  to  rebuke  that 
proud  and  vicious  prince  as  a  murderer  and  a  sen- 
sualist. He  addressed  him  by  an  epithet  which 
expressed  a  part  of  the  monarch's  character,  which 
he  possessed  in  common  with  much  more  decorous 
and  reputable  men :  — "  Go  ye  and  tell  that  Fox  : 
Behold  I  cast  out  devils,  and  I  do  cures  to-day  and 
to-morrow,  and  the  third  day  I  shall  be  perfected." 

And  this  consideration  may  contribute  to  explain 
Christ's  conduct  to  the  woman  taken  in  adultery. 
Stung  by  His  severity  toward  their  own  form  of  good- 


The  Pharisees. 


43 


ness  as  contrasted  with  His  compassionate  tone  toward 
sinners,  the  Pharisees  had  contrived  this  dilemma  for 
Him,  and  stood  round  in  triumph,  not  expecting  that 
He  would  take  so  bold  a  way  of  extricating  Himself 
from  it  as  He  actually  did  take.  Yet  His  refusal  to 
condemn  the  sinner  here  was  only  in  keeping  with  the 
whole  tone  of  His  judicial  mission  :  "  You  bring  this 
woman  to  me  to  condemn,"  He  appears  to  say  ;  "  but 
the  condemnation  of  such  as  her  is  not  my  office  ;  the 
Law  and  the  Prophets  have  condemned  such  vice  as 
hers  already.  As  Judge  I  have  another  office.  You 
are  the  criminals  for  whom  my  court  is  instituted  ; 
I  sentence  you  ;  but  to  this  poor  sinner  I  stand  in  no 
special  relation  of  judge ;  my  special  work  to  her  is 
one  of  pardon."  He  would  not  waste,  in  condemning 
wretched  confessed  crime,  that  judicial  mission  which 
was  to  unmask  false  goodness. 

After  this  general  review,  however,  of  the  character 
of  the  Pharisee,  it  still  remains  to  ask  whether  the 
character  was  confined  to  its  own  day,  or  whether  it 
is  not  in  its  essence  a  character  of  all  ages.  The  great 
attention  which  is  drawn  to  it  in  the  Gospels  would 
lead  one  to  suppose  that  it  is  ;  as  otherwise  it  would 
not  have  been  so  much  brought  forward.  For  why 
should  we  at  this  day,  e.g.,  be  reading  so  much  about 
the  Pharisees  if  they  were  really  only  a  curious  sect 
in  Judea  two  thousand  years  ago  ? 

Can  we  imagine  anything  more  irrelevant  as  a 
lesson  to  the  present  day  than  the  reproof  of — if  they 
were  no  more  than  this — a  quaint  school  of  religionists, 
who  paid  minute  attention  to  ordinances  in  connection 


44 


The  Pharisees. 


with  certain  herbs,  and  prayed  conspicuously  in  mar- 
ket-places ?  It  cannot  be  said  that  these  are  our 
perils.  But  indeed  it  is  sufficiently  clear  that  these 
are  not  the  substance  of  the  character. 

It  is  true  the  special  virtues  of  the  Pharisee  were 
virtues  of  his  own  age,  and  the  popular  and  creditable 
virtues  of  one  age  will  differ  from  those  of  another ; 
those  of  an  earlier  from  those  of  a  later.  These  creden- 
tials to  public  favour  may  alter.  But  look  at  the  charac- 
ter in  its  essence,  only  changing  its  dress,  its  class  of  par- 
ticular virtues,  according  to  circumstances,  and  taking 
oflf  one  and  putting  on  another  as  the  public  standard 
shifts  ;  thus  cleared  of  its  accidents,  look  at  it ;  is  there 
anything  old  about  it  ?  It  is  new ;  it  is  fresh  ;  it  is 
modern ;  it  is  living ;  it  is  old  in  the  sense  of  human 
nature  being  old,  but  in  no  other.  It  is  a  type  of  evil 
indeed  much  more  likely  to  increase  than  decay — to 
increase  as  the  standard  of  advancing  society  throws 
the  corrupt  principle  in  man  more  upon  policy, 
rather  than  open  heathen  resistance.  Formality  and 
routine  are  not  essential  to  the  Pharisee ;  he  feeds  his 
character  upon  ancient  disciplinarian  virtues  if  he  has 
nothing  else  to  feed  it  upon  ;  but  he  flourishes  in 
reality  quite  as  much  upon  utilitarian  and  active 
virtues,  if  they  are  uppermost.  He  can  assume  the 
new  virtues  upon  the  same  terms  upon  which  he  as- 
sumed the  old  ones.  The  freedom,  the  flexibility,  the 
play  of  a  modern  standard  are  mastered  by  the  char- 
acter exactly  in  the  same  way  in  which  the  rigour  and 
formality  of  an  old  standard  were  mastered. 

The  condemnation  of  the  Pharisee  is  not  the  con- 


TJie  Pharisees. 


45 


demnation  then  of  an  antiquated  character ;  it  looked 
forward  to  futurity  ;  it  was  specially  adapted  to  meet 
the  sin  of  a  more  advanced  and  a  more  refined  and 
civilised  state  of  humanity,  when  gross  crime  is  more 
and  more  discarded  as  a  mischief  to  society,  and  when 
the  minds  which  go  parallel  with  the  times  are 
tempted  more  and  more  into  a  specious  development, 
into  adopting,  e.g.,  the  "virtues  of  the  age  with  the 
taint  of  the  motive  of  the  individual.  That  this  must 
be  more  and  more  the  moral  peril  of  civilisation,  cannot 
but  be  obvious  to  any  one  who  examines  what  civilisa- 
tion is. 

But  this  is  Pharisaism.  The  condemnation  of  it 
then  was  prophetic ;  it  was  a  lesson  provided  for  the 
world's  progress.  A  civilised  world  wanted  it  because 
it  is  the  very  nature  of  civilisation  to  amplify  the  body 
of  public  virtues  without  guarding  in  the  least  the 
motive  to  them.  A  Christian  world  wanted  it  because 
it  is  the  law  of  goodness  to  produce  hypocrisy;  it 
creates  it  as  naturally  as  the  substance  creates  the 
shadow  ;  as  the  standard  of  goodness  rises  the  standard 
of  profession  must  rise  too. 

Every  particular  age  is  indeed  apt  to  suppose  that 
its  own  virtues  are  of  such  peculiar  excellence  that 
they  cannot  but  guarantee  their  motive.  So  the  Jew 
argued  in  the  case  of  his  favourite — the  Pharisee. 
How  could  there  be  anything  amiss  with  the  motive, 
when  there  was  so  much  zeal  ?  And  so  any  one 
might  say  of  the  virtues  of  an  advanced  age, — How 
can  such  candour,  such  moderation,  such  benevolent 
activity,  fail  in  motive  ?    But  the  excellence  of  the 


46 


The  Pharisees. 


virtues  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the  motive 
of  the  individual ;  iliey  are  admirable — beyond  com- 
mendation ;  but  what  is  his  relation  to  them  ?  In 
what  mode  does  he  possess  them  ? 

Nothing  indeed  can  show  more  clearly  that  the 
superiority  of  the  virtues  is  no  credential  to  the  motive, 
than  the  very  Pharisaic  age  itself.  The  great  yearning 
of  proj)hecy  was  the  total  destruction  of  idolatry ;  the 
prophets  did  not  see  this  in  their  days,  and  were  in 
perpetual  war  with  a  lapsing  and  idol-loving  nation. 
This  was  their  great  crux ;  and  their  great  longing  was 
the  worship  of  one  God.  Well  then,  years  roll  on, 
and  this  great  desideratum  of  law  and  prophets  is 
actually  accomplished :  the  Jewish  nation  does  wholly 
discard  idolatry  ;  and  what  is  the  result  ?  The  very 
age  of  true  worship  was  that  which  saw  the  consum- 
mating act  of  national  apostasy  ;  and  the  rejected  Jew, 
upon  whose  forehead  the  mark  of  Cain  was  fixed,  was 
not  an  idolater,  but  a  believer  in  the  one  God.  Imagine, 
if  we  can  make  the  supposition,  that  one  of  the  ancient 
prophets  who  had  testified  against  the  idolatry  of  his 
own  acre,  and  had  exulted  in  the  return  of  Jerusalem 
to  the  worship  of  one  God,  as  the  crowning  vision  of 
prophecy  ; — imagine  him  seeing  Jerusalem  and  the 
Jewish  people,  when  his  own  vision  was  fulfilled. 
The  Pharisees  were  the  very  heads  and  leaders  of  the 
nation  in  the  maintenance  of  this  all-important  article 
of  faith ;  the  most  jealous  of  the  least  apparent  in- 
fringement of  it ;  the  most  vehement  in  the  hatred  of 
images ;  even  the  Eoman  eagle  was  an  abomination 
to  them ;  they  trembled  for  the  temple  and  the  holy 


The  Pharisees. 


47 


place  on  its  approach ;  they  rose  up  for  the  insulted 
dignity  of  heaven,  and  headed  the  popular  outbreak 
upon  the  sight  of  it.  When  idolatry  then  was  more 
than  ever  flourishing  in  the  world,  and  when  even  a 
living  Roman  emperor  was  a  god,  the  Pharisee  seemed 
to  be  the  very  person  whom  the  prophets  longed  for, 
and  on  whom  they  would  have  fixed  as  their  very 
ideal  of  one  of  the  people  of  God.  The  prophet  lifting 
up  his  voice  against  the  crying  abuse  of  his  age,  would 
naturally  expect  that  when  that  abuse  was  removed, 
everything,  so  to  speak,  would  be  right.  But  what 
would  he  have  said  when  he  saw  a  Pharisee  ?  Imagine 
him  coming  into  the  temple  when  the  Pharisee  wor- 
shipped and  made  that  prayer — "My  God,  I  thank 
thee  that  I  am  not  as  other  men  are."  Was  this  then 
the  long  expected  fruit  of  a  true  monotheistic  creed  ? 
He  follows  him  into  the  market-place  :  he  follows  him 
into  the  feast ;  we  know  what  he  sees  there.  What 
an  issue  of  glorious  anticipations !  Can  we  conceive 
a  more  utter  disappointment,  than  when  he  saw  in  the 
monotheistic  Pharisee  the  same  identical  Jew  whom 
he  had  denounced  as  an  idolater  ? 

The  truth  is,  and  this  is  the  explanation  of  these 
and  such  like  facts,  the  real  virtues  of  one  age  become 
the  spurious  ones  of  the  next.  When,  in  the  progress 
of  the  human  race,  any  new  ground  is  gained,  whether  in 
truth  or  morals,  the  original  gainers  of  that  ground  are 
great  moral  minds ;  they  are  minds  which  were  pene- 
trated by  true  perceptions  and  by  an  inward  sacred 
light,  and  they  fought  with  the  society  of  their  day 
for  the  reception  of  that  light ;  they  therefore  stand 


48 


The  Pharisees. 


high  in  the  scale  of  goodness.  But  it  is  totally  dif- 
ferent when  the  new  ground  being  once  made,  a 
succeeding  generation  has  to  use  it.  The  use  of  it 
then  is  no  guarantee  of  moral  rank.  There  is  a 
starting  power  in  true  goodness,  by  a  struggle,  to 
get  itself  accepted  as  a  standard, —  accepted  even  by 
the  very  society  which  is  in  heart  opposed  to  it.  This 
is  that  peculiar  homage  which  is  paid  to  goodness,  that 
it  extorts  a  public  support  even  from  those  who  in- 
dividually reject  it.  Otherwise  there  never  would  be 
any  rise  in  the  standard  of  society  at  all,  which  is  in 
heart  always  at  the  time  hostile  to  it ;  but  this  prin- 
ciple provides  one.  The  new  virtues  then  are  started ; 
they  are  erected  as  a  standard ;  they  are  established, 
received,  and  taken  into  the  system.  But  then  in- 
ferior men  can  practise  them ;  and  more  than  this, 
selfish  men  can  practise  them.  The  selfish  principle 
does  not  require  vice  as  its  instrument ;  so  long  as  it 
can  get  behind  the  last  erected  class  of  virtues,  can 
command  the  situation,  and  dictate  the  motive,  it  is 
enough.  It  retreats  then  behind  the  last  ground 
gained,  whether  of  truth  or  morals,  and  uses  the  latest 
virtues  as  its  fulcrum  and  leverage.  A  standard  once 
raised  by  the  convulsive  efforts  of  a  fervent  minority, 
a  mass  of  lower  character  is  equal  to  the  adoption  of 
it ;  but  the  originators  of  the  standard  are  separated 
by  an  immeasureable  interval  from  their  successors. 
The  belief  of  the  Pharisees,  the  religious  practice  of 
the  Pharisees,  was  an  improvement  upon  the  life  of 
the  sensual  and  idolatrous  Jews  whom  the  prophets 
denounced.    But  those  who  used  both  the  doctrinal 


The  Pharisees. 


49 


and  moral  improvements  as  the  fulcrum  of  a  selfish 
power  and  earthly  rank,  were  the  same  men,  after  all, 
as  their  fatliers,  only  accommodated  to  a  new  age,  though 
this  indeed  was  just  what  they  denied.  They  said, 
on  the  contrary,  we  build  the  prophets'  sepulchres, 
whereas  our  fathers  killed  them  ;  and  exposed  them- 
selves to  our  Lord's  irony,  that  the  builder  of  the 
sepulchre  was  a  very  fitting  successor  of  the  killer. 

How,  in  the  highest  sense,  natural  then  is  this 
whole  language  of  the  Gospels,  though  it  has  recently 
been  made  a  Scriptural  difficulty — most  gratuitously. 
For  is  there  any  language,  I  do  not  say  in  the  Bible, 
but  in  any  book  that  was  ever  written  in  this  world, 
with  which  human  nature — on  the  good  side — more 
sympathises  than  with  this  ?  Is  there  a  single  vein  of 
any  moralist,  of  any  dramatist,  of  any  one  exponent 
of  human  character,  that  ever  wrote,  with  which  it 
feels  itself  more  at  one  ?  It  could  not  perhaps  have 
trusted  itself  to  such  a  condemnation  of  character,  it 
could  not  have  resisted  the  apparent  weight  of  out- 
sides,  which  is  often  great,  without  this  aid ;  but  the 
plain  outspoken  decision  of  the  Gospel  has  backed  ujj 
the  sense  of  truth  in  Nature, — has  enabled  it  to  sj)eak 
out  when  it  might  have  been  mute.  The  high  judicial 
voice  of  Him  who  knew  what  was  in  man,  has  founded 
a  great  liuman  judgment ;  and  this  type  of  evil  has 
never  recovered  from  its  exposure  in  the  Gospel ;  the 
honesty  in  man's  nature  is  armed  against  it,  and  keeps 
up  a  witness  against  it. 

Such  was  the  judgment  of  the  first  Advent — not 
the  final,  but  the  prophetic  judgment  of  Christ.  It 

E 


50  The  Pharisees. 

lays  the  foundation  of  the  kingdom  of  God,  of  that 
virtuous  society  which  is  to  last  for  ever  in  another 
world;  it  lays  it  deep — deeper  than  in  the  virtues  of 
classes,  than  in  the  virtues  of  ages.     These  virtues, 
which  depend  upon  motives  beginning  and  ending 
with  this  visible  system,  are  not  the  immortal  part  of 
virtue  ;  these  are  not  the  soul  or  substance  of  it ;  these 
are  but  the  husks  and  coats,  the  outer  surrounding 
and  integuments  of  that  inner  goodness  which  is  the 
property  of  the  individual  being  alone.    There  emerge, 
in  all  generations  and  in  all  ages,  out  of  the  mass  which 
is  formed  and  moulded  by  the  outer  world,  with  all  its 
virtues  and  its  motives,  men  whose  character  springs 
out  of  some  fountain  within ;  out  of  a  hope,  a  faith  of 
some  kind,  which  does  not  belong  to  them  as  mere 
members  of  human  society,  but  which  they  find  im- 
planted within  them.    The  virtue  which  springs  out 
of  this  root  is  hardy ;  not  like  the  goodness  which 
feeds  upon  mundane  motives,  and  is  weak  and  sickly 
in  proportion  to  the  pampering  nature  of  its  nourish- 
ment ;  this  virtue  is  strong,  and  this  virtue  will  found 
the  future  society.    If  this  world  did  not  contain  now 
the  elements  of  a  perfectly  virtuous  society,  how  could 
we  possibly  believe  that  there  would  be  such  a  society  ? 
The  very  idea  of  it  would  be  a  fiction  and  a  dream. 
But  these  individual  characters  are  the  elements  of  it. 
If  it  be  asked  indeed,  what  is  it  which  supplies  these 
individual  characters  —  from  what  great  deep  arise 
these  lesser  fountains — that  is  a  question  beyond  us. 
The  foundations  of  character  as  of  other  things  are 
hid  from  us.    The  wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth,  and 


The  Pharisees. 


51 


thou  hearest  the  sound  thereof,  but  canst  not  tell 
whence  it  conieth.  We  know  as  a  fact,  however,  that 
these  characters  do  rise  up ;  that  a  good  society  is 
forminff  in  the  world ;  that  there  are  the  rudiments 
here  of  the  kingdom  of  God.  Our  Lord  at  His  Advent 
separated  these  virtuous  manifestations  from  those  of 
a  mundane  foundation.  This  virtue,  therefore,  will  live, 
and  live  for  ever.  So  do  we  see  a  vigorous  blade 
spring  out  of  its  seed ; — the  dead  and  rotten  parts  fall 
off  on  all  sides  of  it ;  it  shoots  up ;  it  pushes  its  way 
higher ;  it  emerges ;  it  rises  to  the  top ;  it  cuts  the 
upper  air  and  exults  in  the  light  of  day. 


I 


ETERNAL  LIFE. 

EOMANS  VIII.  24. 

"  For  ice  are  saved  by  hope :  hut  hope  that  is  seen  is  not  hope :  for 
tvhat  a  man  seeth,  why  doth  he  yet  hope  for." 

/~\NE  of  the  most  remarkable  combinations  which 
this  age  has  produced,  is  an  Atheism  which  pro- 
fesses a  sublime  morality.    AVe  have  been  accustomed 
to  connect  Atheism  with  immorality  and  licentious- 
ness ;  but  here  the  coalition  is  in  theory  dissolved. 
The  ethics  indeed  are  simply  borrowed  from  Chris- 
tianity ;  and  it  is  always  easy  for  the  originator  of  a 
new  philosophy  to  plaster  any  amount  of  high  morals 
upon  it,  which  he  finds  ready  made  for  him.    He  can 
endow  his  philosophy  with  all  the  virtues  under  the 
sun,  just  as  a  writer  of  fiction  can  make  the  characters 
that  represent  his  favourite  school  as  good  as  he 
pleases.     Nothing  whatever  is  proved  as  to  what 
Atheism  naturally  bears  as  a  root  and  principle.  We 
can  conceive  indeed  —  though  the  experiment  has 
never  been  tried — a  civil  community  of  Atheists  ;  for 
men  do  not  value  this  life  the  less  because  they  do 
not  believe  in  another,  and  the  instinct  of  self  pre- 
servation penetrating  the  body  would   dictate  the 
coercion  of  crime.   But  whatever  was  done  with  crime, 

1 


Eternal  Life. 


53 


tlic  absence  of  the  powerful  motives  of  religious  fear 
aud  hope  must  give  an  advantage  to  vice ;  and  as  for 
the  highest  moral  spirit — this  is  really  but  one  with 
the  religious ;  and  Atheism  is  wanting  in  the  very 
ideas  which  are  essential  to  this — the  ideas  of  sin  ;  of 
repentance ;  of  humility  which  requii'cs  the  transfer- 
ence of  the  source  of  good  out  of  ourselves  ;  of  sanctity 
and  awe  which  point  to  a  Higher  Being.    And  for 
morality  again  you  must  have  affections,  and  for 
affections  you  must  have  beings,  and  Atheism  does 
not  provide  beings.    The  beings  it  provides  arc  not 
substances  and  spirits.     Can  you  love  phenomena  ? 
Nature  is  moved  indeed,  and  a  spirit  half  volatile  and 
half  melancholy  breathes  in  light  classic  poetry  toward 
all  vanishing  being  even  upon  the  sympathetic  ground 
of  a  common  transciency ;  but  love  by  its  very  law 
tends  toward  a  substance  ;  it  wants  the  solemnity  of 
eternal  being ;  it  wants  a  beyond,  and  no  being  that 
is  without  this  beyond  can  duly  answer  to  it  as  an 
object.    Atheistic  morals,  therefore,  must  always  be 
stunted  morals. 

It  is,  however,  this  combination  in  the  Comtist 
philosophy,  which  has  given  it  the  position  it  has 
got ;  because  a  great  number  of  people  in  every  age, 
whether  they  do  or  do  not  express  the  want  accurately 
to  themselves,  do  want  morality  without  religion.  It 
is  a  great  desideratum.  There  is  this  great  distinction 
between  the  two  things ;  the  moral  notion  is  an  actual 
fact  of  our  nature,  almost  like  a  physical  fact ;  it  is 
plain  and  palpable  ;  everybody  praises  and  blames 
with  reference  to  it ;  it  is  a  part  of  the  very  world  in 


54 


Eternal  Life. 


wliich  \re  are.  But  religion  is  not  a  fact  but  a  ^dsion  ; 
tliouQ-li  a  A^ision  of  which  reason  ausfurs  the  fulfilment. 
There  are  then  always  numbers  who  accept  the  fact 
but  not  the  vision  ;  nay,  who  would  fain  develop  the 
fact  and  carry  it  into  high  fonns  of  life,  for  moral 
goodness  is  an  actual  sensation  which  they  enjoy  and 
need ;  but  who  still  cannot  accept  conceptions  which 
take  them  so  much  out  of  this  world,  as  those  of 
religion  do. 

This  then  has  been  the  great  exploit  of  the  new 
philosophy.  People  cast  aside  its  frivolities  and  affecta- 
tions, its  ceremonial,  its  rites,  its  commemorations,  its 
scholasticism  and  its  pedantry — they  passed  over  all 
its  fantastic  rules  and  particularities,  to  seize  what  was 
really  the  kernel  of  it,  what  was  reaUy  powerful  in  it, 
what  was  to  the  point — viz.,  morality  without  religion. 
Atheism  had  lain  under  the  stigma  of  licentiousness, 
but  now  that  it  had  freed  itself  from  this  connection, 
and  become  moral,  it  gave  the  morality  which  was 
wanted, — free  from  the  encumbrance  and  the  tie  of 
obnoxious  ideas.  This  was  the  combination  then  in 
the  system  which  took  hold  of  men.  It  was  caught  at 
because  there  was  a  want  felt  for  it ;  though  the  in- 
fluence of  the  new  t}'pe  was  not  nearly  so  large  in  the 
shape  of  actual  discipleship  as  it  was  in  its  oblique 
effects,  or  in  certain  modifications  of  rehgious  ideas  in 
niunbers  of  ordinary  behevers.  It  is  one  of  the  re- 
markable concomitants  of  the  erection  of  any  gi-eat 
infidel  position,  that  it  issues  in  numberless  shades 
and  orradations  of  unbelief  in  Christians.  Does  a  orreat 
theory  come  out  which  rejects  any  world  but  this  one; 


Eternal  L  ife. 


55 


— the  invisible  world  begins  to  present  itself  as  a 
vanishing  point  to  numbers  of  minds  ;  they  shrink 
from  any  truths  which  arc  specially  connected  with  it; 
they  feel  a  kind  of  awkwardness,  an  uncomfortable- 
ness,  a  shyness  in  their  presence :  an  offence  and 
stumbling-block  lurks  in  any  concejDtion  which  is  not 
part  of  this  conscious  life ;  religion  is  glorious  and 
grand,  but  has  not  even  religion  itself  after  all  a  very 
good  fulfilment  here  ?  They  prefer  the  outer  erections 
which  have  grrown  around  a  doctrine  to  the  doctrine 
itself,  which  is  a  troublesome  visitor  if  it  ever  comes 
into  their  minds  and  demands  to  be  treated  as  an  in- 
ward truth ;  in  that  capacity  it  receives  a  very  frigid 
welcome.  They  will  aid  actively  any  machinery  for 
setting  in  motion  the  high  morals  of  Christianity ;  but 
activity  is  not  the  Gospel's  sole  test.  It  requires  faith 
too.  It  speaks  of  much  work,  and  work  which  we 
know  was  not  mere  formal  and  ceremonial,  but  real 
work, — active  strong  work, — as  dross  ;  as  dead  works 
which  had  physical  vivacity  but  not  the  breath  of 
heaven  in  them.  Activity  is  naturally  at  first  sight 
our  one  test  of  faith — what  else  should  it  spring  from, 
we  say :  and  yet  experience  corrects  this  natural  as- 
sumption ;  for  active  men  can  be  active  almost  about 
anything,  and  amongst  other  things  about  a  religion 
in  which  they  do  not  believe.  They  can  throw  them- 
selves into  public  machinery,  and  the  bustle  of  crowds, 
when  if  two  were  left  together  to  make  their  confes- 
sion of  faith  to  each  other  they  would  feel  awkward. 
But  there  is  something  flat,  after  all,  in  the  activities 
of  men,  who  accommodate,  themselves  to  the  Gospel  ; 


56 


Eternal  Life. 


whereas,  take  but  a  fragment  of  true  action,  anywhere, 
in  one  who  believes  in  it,  and  it  captivates  us ;  this  has 
soul;  it  is  tested  by  the  interest  with  which  we  cherish 
the  image  of  it ;  whereas  there  is  nothing  which  so  little 
interests  us  as  soulless  earnestness,  ardour  without  faith. 

But  though  this  philosophy  has  one  strong  power- 
ful idea  in  it,  when  we  come  to  its  argument  we  are 
struck  with  the  very  little  there  is  which  has  any 
direct  weight  or  force  against  the  Christian  position ; 
while  in  morals,  the  only  discovery  which  it  has  made 
in  pretended  advance  of  Christianity  is  so  absurd  and 
fantastic  that  it  would  have  been  much  to  the  credit 
of  the  system  to  have  kept  it  back.  It  has  undoubt- 
edly struck  a  great  blow ;  it  has  produced  an  extra- 
ordinary reaction  in  many  quarters  against  the  solemn 
verdict  of  the  collective  reason  of  mankind  for  the 
existence  of  a  God  and  a  Future  State ;  though  re- 
bounds against  the  established  positions  of  human  rea- 
son are  by  no  means  not  to  be  expected  at  times — they 
take  place  even  in  politics  and  science.  But  how  has 
this  reaction  arisen  ?  From  any  rational  argument  ? 
No.  It  has  arisen  from  the  fact  that  in  a  vast  number 
of  minds  a  future  state,  is  an  idea  rather  than  a  be- 
lief. A  future  state  is  like  the  future  of  this  life,  an 
image  or  picture  in  the  mind,  though  there  is  this  great 
difference  in  the  two  pictorial  futures,  that  I  believe 
mechanically  in  the  one,  but  as  for  the  other  — .  I 
can  raise  the  idea  perfectly  easily,  there  is  no  resist- 
ance, it  comes  at  my  summons :  but  will  the  idea  ever 
be  a  reality  ?  Well,  enlightened  reason  says  that  it 
will,  and  produces  a  belief;  still  multitudes  hold  it  as 


Eternal  Life. 


57 


a  mere  idea  or  picture;  the  reasons  for  the  truth,  which 
are  founded  in  our  spiritual  nature,  not  being  realised. 
Consequently"  the  idea,  not  being  backed  by  its  reasons, 
is  held  uj)on  such  a  tenure,  that  at  any  moment  the  dis- 
covery may  be  made  to  such  minds  that  the  idea  in 
their  case  is  no  more  than  an  idea — a  picture.  Suppose 
then  a  great  infidel  philosopher  to  spring  up,  a  man 
armed  with  all  the  powers  of  argument  and  language;, 
he  suddenly  turns  round  upon  all  these  persons,  and 
looks  them  in  the  face  with  the  question — Do  you  really 
believe  in  this  idea  ?  Examine  it,  he  says,  is  it  not  a 
mere  idea?  a  mere  image  that  you  have  raised,  or 
that  has  been  raised  for  you  ?  Where  is  this  heaven 
that  you  talk  about  ?  Is  it  above  your  head  ?  is  it  be- 
neath your  feet?  Do  you  seriously  think  that  if  you  were 
to  go  millions  of  miles  in  any  quarter  of  the  compass 
you  would  find  it  ?  Is  it  anywhere  in  all  space  ?  and 
if  not,  wliat  is  its  where  ?  Is  there  another  world  be- 
sides the  whole  world?  When  thus  suddenly  chal- 
lenged, then,  w^hat  can  such  minds  do  ?  The  secret  is 
out,  and  the  disclosure  is  made  to  them  that  the  idea 
in  them  is  only  an  idea.  The  world  to  come  disap- 
pears in  a  moment  like  a  phantom ;  the  reign  of  the 
apparition  is  over,  and  a  dream  is  dispelled.  It  is  the 
unbelieving  counterpart  of  conversion  ;  a  man  awakens 
in  conversion  to  the  reality  of  the  invisible  world;  here 
he  awakens  to  the  nonentity  of  it. 

But  while  this  great  concussion  has  been  produced 
by  the  force  of  mere  impression  and  by  a  sudden  shock, 
there  is  not  one  argumentative  blow  struck  by  this 
philosophy  against  Christianity.    Its  ground  is  that 


58 


Eternal  Life, 


Religion  has  not  scientific  evidence ;  and  witli  that  as 
an  argument  it  bcojins  and  ends.  But  who  ever  said 
that  religion  liad  scientific  evidence?  Scripture  in- 
deed, if  we  did  say  so,  would  be  the  first  to  rebuke  us; 
it  rests  the  very  excellence  of  the  temper  which  accepts 
religion  upon  its  being  a  temper  which  does  not  require 
sight ;  sight  meaning  either  physical  or  demonstrative 
certainty.  "  We  are  saved  by  hope,"  says  St.  Paul, 
"  but  hope  that  is  seen  is  not  hope."  This  is  the 
great  contrast  which  runs  through  the  New  Testament. 
Indeed,  scientific  proof  is  just  what,  in  the  very  nature 
of  the  case,  religion  does  not  admit  of.  What  we  mean 
by  scientific  proof  is  the  verification  by  event  or  expe- 
riment of  some  calculation  or  reasoning,  or  interpreta- 
tion of  facts  which  has  pointed  to  some  particular  con- 
clusion, but  not  as  yet  actually  reached  it.  Before  this 
verification  there  is  a  direction  in  which  things  plainly 
go,  a  disposition  of  facts  our  way,  but  there  is  only 
probability;  after,  and  by  this  verification,  there  is 
certainty.  In  practical  life,  e.g.,  when  we  argue  from 
circumstances  that  something  has  taken  place  or  will 
take  place,  the  event  is  the  test  of  the  truth  of  our 
reasoning,  or  the  scientific  evidence  of  it.  And  in 
physical  science  experiment  is  the  scientific  proof.  To 
have  scientific  proof  then  of  a  future  state,  is  to  have 
found  out,  by  having  died  and  actually  passed  into  that 
state,  and  felt  yourself  in  it,  that  the  reasoning  on 
which  you  had  previously  in  life  expected  and  looked 
forward  to  that  state,  was  correct  reasoning,  and  that 
you  had  made  a  true  prophecy.  But  this  proof,  in 
the  nature  of  the  case,  we  cannot  have  now. 


Eternal  Life. 


59 


The  Comtist  argument,  therefore,  begins  and  ends 
with  somcthincj  which  is  altoarether  irrelevant  as  reo;ards 
the  Christian  evidence,  and  which  does  not  even  come 
into  contact  with  it.  There  is,  however,  an  assumption 
lying  hid  under  this  charge — that  religion  has  not 
scientific  evidence — viz. ,  that  no  evidence  which  is  not 
scientific  is  of  any  value ;  which  undoubtedly  lias  a 
strong  bearing  upon  the  Christian  evidence.  And 
therefore  the  scientific  evidence  of  religion  not  being 
the  question,  what  we  do  join  issue  upon  is  the  nature 
of  the  evidence  which  is  not  scientific — the  nature  of 
the  evidence  which  precedes  and  as  yet  awaits  verifi- 
cation. Is  all  evidence  in  this  previous  stage  value- 
less ?    Let  us  see. 

What  then  is,  in  the  reason  of  the  case,  the  very 
nature  and  scope  of  all  probable  evidence  ?  Is  it  not 
to  direct  our  persuasion  and  belief  toward  some  end 
which  is  not  yet  ascertained,  and  which  therefore  we 
do  not  actually  know.  Indeed,  had  we  to  wait  for  the 
verification  of  the  evidence  before  we  used  it,  we 
should  be  in  the  most  extraordinary  dilemma ;  because 
we  should  have  to  w^ait  till  an  event  had  happened 
before  we  could  calculate  on  its  happening,  and  depend 
on  certainty  as  a  preliminary  stage  of  probability.  The 
only  likely  future  would  be  an  ascertained  past ;  we 
could  only  foresee  what  liad  occurred,  and  only  look 
forward  correctly  by  looking  backwards.  We  should 
have  no  prospective  evidence,  but  what  was  subse- 
quent to  knowledge.  Probable  reasoning,  therefore,  is 
in  its  own  nature  unverified  reasoning ;  it  i'pso  facto 
wants  the  fulfilment  of  experiment ;  it  is  therefore 


6o 


Eternal  Life. 


unscientific  e\'idence  :  and  yet  it  is  capable  of  pro- 
ducing rational  belief.  Every  fresh  concurrence  of 
circumstances  is  a  ground  upon  which  we  reason,  and 
upon  which  we  predict,  infer,  conclude  something 
which  is  not  mathematically  contained  in  those  cir- 
cumstances, but  to  which  they  point.  This  ever  new, 
fresh,  living,  ceaseless  flow  of  interpretation  and  con- 
struction, which  almost  makes  up  life,  is  not  know- 
ledge, because  its  very  nature  is  to  be  a  substitute  for 
knowledoe ;  we  reason  toward  a  thino;  because  we  do 
not  know  it ;  and  yet  it  is  not  blind  guess-work  :  there 
is  evidence  in  it :  it  produces  behef.  Those  who  will 
not  recognise  evidence  apart  from  knowledge,  who  will 
not  see  reason  as  behef  only,  who  reduce  all  that  is  not 
certainty  to  pure  ignorance,  and  di\'ide  the  realm  of 
mind  into  demonstration  and  darkness,  must  have 
expunged  fi-om  their  understandings  the  obligation  to 
attend  to  facts.  There  is  something  between  certainty 
and  nothing, — what  we  call  belief ;  which  has  more  or 
less  of  the  effect  of  knowledge,  and  yet  is  separated  by 
a  whole  chasm  from  it.  This  intermediate  state  of 
mind  may  be  a  stumbling-block  to  a  philosopher  who 
argues  from  the  abstraction,  or  ivord  knowledge,  that 
there  must  be  either  wholly  knowledge  or  wholly  not 
knowledge ;  and  it  may  look  like  a  contradiction  to 
him  to  know  or  not  to  know  at  once ;  but  it  is  our 
reason  in  actual  operation, — in  practice. 

The  evidence,  then  —  to  take  that  branch  of  reh- 
gious  doctrme — for  a  future  state  is  of  this  kind  ;  that 
is  to  say,  like  all  other  probable  evidence,  it  awaits 
verification;  but  yet,  prior  to  verification,  it  is  evidence. 


Eternal  Life. 


6i 


It  is,  like  all  other  probable  reasoning,  an  interpreta- 
tion of  facts,  only  facts  of  inward  consciousness  in- 
stead of  facts  of  outward  life.  It  would  be  absurd  to 
say  that  the  inward  world  of  our  minds,  with  all  its 
remarkal)le  contents,  cannot  be  reasoned  from  because 
it  is  inward  and  not  outward  ;  because  it  is  not  gained 
by  the  senses  but  by  reflection.  We  observe  then, 
first,  what  the  facts  are  about  ourselves — viz.,  to  begin 
with,  that  our  bodies  are  not  wg, — not  our  proper  per- 
sons ;  indeed,  to  say  that  they  were  would  be  to  say 
that  one  thing  was  another  thing :  next,  that  we  have 
a  moral  nature  ;  and  so  on — and  then  from  these  facts 
we  draw  the  argument  we  do  ;  we  interpret  them  ;  we 
say  in  what  direction  they  point — viz.,  to  our  immor- 
tality. Nor  does  it  make  any  difference  if  you  call 
these  facts  impressions.  Impressions  are  facts ;  that 
we  seem  to  ourselves  to  see  such  facts  about  ourselves 
is  a  fact.  I  reason  then  upon  these  facts,  as  I  should 
upon  facts  of  natural  history. 

It  is  in  philosophy,  then,  as  it  is  in  the  world  ;  — 
the  most  visibly  flourishing  and  busy  department,  that 
which  can  boast  the  newest  discoveries,  shoves  the 
others  out  of  sight,  and  the  great  prosperity  of  the  In- 
ductive Sciences  has  had  the  effect  of  driving  into  the 
background  this  whole  inward  ground  of  reason  for 
a  future  life,  under  the  name  of  metaphysics  ;  which  is 
regarded  as  an  old  obsolete  species  of  reasoning,  curious 
as  a  sample  of  former  workings  of  the  human  mind, 
but  still  a  mere  quaint  technical  structure  of  abstrac- 
tions, a  kind  of  legal  fiction,  a  reasoning  sui  generis, 
difl'erent  from  all  other  kinds  of  reasoning,  and  applied 


62 


Eternal  Life. 


to  the  soul  and  nothing  else  :  and  called  metaphysics 
to  distinguish  it  from  anything  which  has  to  do  with 
reality  and  truth.  But,  in  truth,  in  this  inward  ground 
of  reason  for  a  future  life  we  are  using  no  separate  or 
isolated  species  of  reasoning  at  all ;  we  are  simply,  as 
we  do  in  ordinary  life  or  in  nature,  interpreting  facts ; 
I  should  rather  sa,j,  fact ;  interpreting  the  one  great 
fact  that  we  are  what  we  are.  The  argument  for  the 
continuance  of  the  soul's  existence  may  be  expanded 
indefinitely,  and  the  chain  of  reasoning  lengthened 
out  and  boundlessly  illustrated  by  analogies,  but  the 
substance  of  it  is  contained  in  the  one  fact  that  we  are 
ourselves.  This  one  fact  links  us  with  immortaUty. 
Nor  have  I  anything  to  do  here  with  the  question,  how 
came  I  to  be  what  I  am  ? — the  question  of  my  physical 
genealogy  as  a  human  being.  How  I  come  to  be  what 
I  am  I  know  not.  I  have  not  the  least  idea  of  the 
mode  of  my  original,  and  if  I  should  investigate  it  for 
ages  I  should  find  myself  looking  at  a  dead  wall.  But, 
whatever  that  be,  the  fact  of  my  consciousness  remains 
the  same ;  this  is  an  actual  existing  present  fact  and 
premiss,  which  is  not  afiected  in  the  smallest  degree  by 
these  curious  researches  backward  :  I  am  what  I  am  : 
and  that  I  am  what  I  am  is  the  argument  for  my  im- 
mortality. 

There  is  one  great  distinction,  indeed,  between  the 
current  probabilities  of  life  and  the  expectation  of  a 
future  state.  The  probabilities  of  life  pass  in  rapid 
succession  into  their  state  of  either  verification  or  falsi- 
fication ;  they  do  not  for  the  most  part  keep  us  long 
waiting ;  when  it  is  evening,  we  say  it  will  be  fair 


Eternal  Life. 


63 


weather,  for  the  sky  is  red ;  and  in  the  morning,  we 
say  it  will  be  foul  weather  for  the  sky  is  red  and 
lowering ;  the  morning  soon  fulfils  or  refutes  the  pre- 
sage of  the  evening,  and  the  evening  soon  fulfils  or 
refutes  the  prognostic  of  the  morning.  It  is  the 
same  with  respect  to  the  transactions  of  life.  Every 
day  and  hour  brings  its  collocation  of  facts,  from 
which  we  infer  something,  and  the  next  day  or  hour 
brings  the  event  which  decides  whether  that  inference 
was  right.  The  decision  at  any  rate  comes  some  time, 
it  may  be  months  or  years.  The  same  scene  of  action 
which  brought  the  rational  expectation  brings  also  the 
event  which  tests  and  verifies  the  correctness  of  it. 
But  the  great  prophecy  of  reason  has  not  yet  received 
its  verification.  A  future  life  is  not  proved  by  experi- 
ment. Generation  after  generation  have  gone  to 
their  graves,  looking  for  the  morning  of  the  resurrec- 
tion ;  the  travellers  have  all  gone  with  their  faces  set 
eastward,  and  their  eyes  turned  to  that  eternal  shore 
upon  which  the  voyage  of  life  will  laud  them.  But 
from  that  shore  there  is  no  return  ;  none  come  back  to 
tell  us  the  result  of  the  journey ;  there  is  no  report, 
no  communication  made  from  the  world  they  have 
arrived  at.  No  voice  reaches  us  from  all  the  myriads 
of  the  dead,  to  announce  that  the  expectation  is  ful- 
filled, and  that  experiment  has  ratified  the  argument 
for  immortality.  Between  us  and  them  there  is  a 
great  gulf  fixed,  which  all  indeed  do  cross  that  go 
from  hence,  but  which  none  can  pass  that  would  come 
from  thence.  The  fact  of  a  life  to  come  still  holds 
back,  and  remains  in  reserve.    Thus,  while  a  quick 


64 


Eternal  Life. 


current  of  verifications  passes  by  us  on  the  physical 
side,  on  our  spiritual  side  there  stands  motionless 
one  great  unverified  prophecy  from  birth  to  death  ;  it 
spans  in  one  arch  the  whole  of  life,  and  one  pier  rests  on 
the  eternal  shore.  On  one  side  of  our  road  the  objects 
move  with  rapidity  past  us,  on  the  other  all  stands 
still.  All  points  in  one  direction ;  but  the  great  inter- 
pretation, the  marvellous  anticipation,  still  awaits  the 
crown  of  experiment.  Even  the  historical  evidence, 
however  strong,  of  a  Resurrection  which  has  taken 
place,  comes,  in  its  bearing  upon  our  own  faith,  under 
this  law. 

It  will  be  said,  then,  that  this  is  an  extraordinary 
stretch  of  the  principle  of  probable  evidence ;  to  call 
upon  us  to  trust  it  without  its  test ;  that  is,  it  will  be 
said,  to  trust  in  a  shadow  ;  to  act  for  a  whole  life  upon 
an  expectation  which  will  never  be  experimentally 
decided  here ;  to  go  on  to  the  last  upon  an  unfinished 
argument,  which  breaks  ofi"  in  the  middle.  But  we  do 
take  this  unverified  evidence  in  this  world,  in  every 
department.  As  practical  men,  as  scientific  men,  we 
trust  it — to  what  degree  depends  upon  the  degree  of 
the  evidence.  If  facts  look  very  strongly  one  way,  we 
believe  that  look — before  it  is  verified — till  it  is  falsi- 
fied. And  if  this  look  holds  good  for  a  day,  it  holds 
good  for  a  life  ;  it  is  valid  till  it  is  disproved  :  even  if 
we  carry  it  away  with  us  at  the  last,  an  unfulfilled 
forecast.  It  leaves  this  world  with  all  the  strength 
and  force  that  it  ever  had.  This  is  a  development  in- 
deed, an  expansion,  but  not  a  strain  of  the  principle 
of  probable  evidence.    There  comes  a  point  in  the 


Eternal  Life. 


65 


course  of  every  great  principle,  when  it  takes  a  leap  ; 
when  it  passes  from  a  confined  mode  of  application,  in 
which  it  is  connected  with  certain  particulars,  and 
people  think  it  can  only  act  in  that  circumscribed  con- 
nection, into  a  large  and  full  action.  This  is  often  seen  in 
mechanics.  Then,  when  it  has  taken  this  stride,  it  looks  to 
many  who  have  only  seen  it  with  its  old  particulars,  and 
only  know  it  in  its  old  shape,  as  if  it  would  break  down, 
as  if  it  would  not  hear  the  strain  upon  it.  But  it  can  ; 
and  what  looks  like  a  strain  upon  it  is  only  the  full 
development  and  pure  application  of  the  principle.  It 
acts  with  a  plenitude  with  which  it  did  not  act  before. 
In  general  probable  evidence  acts  within  limited  ranges, 
and  with  a  succession  of  short  prospects ;  but  in  the 
religious  application,  the  principle  all  at  once  lengthens 
its  range  and  bridges  over  a  life  ;  it  summons  man  to 
wait,  and  gird  himself  to  a  long  trial,  before  the  final 
experiment ;  to  a  lifelong  repose  in  an  expectation  ;  to 
an  argument  which  never  concludes ;  and  to  an  act  of 
interpretation  which  never  stops.  But  is  the  inter- 
pretation a  blind  guess  in  consequence  ?  No  more 
than  any  other  construction  of  facts,  which  may  be 
the  most  convincing.  Even  in  physical  and  scientific 
j  discoveries,  how  long  has  the  stage  of  probability  often 
staid  ?  How  long  has  the  test  of  experimental  success 
been  postponed  ?  But  in  these  cases  had  that  evidence 
which  preceded  thatverificationno weight?  It  produced 
often,  even  before  it  had  that  coping-stone,  thorough 
conviction.  The  philosopher  felt  practically  certain  of 
his  conclusion ;  he  knew  he  could  not  be  far  wronjr. 
I  am  aware  I  shall  be  met  with  the  distinction 

F 


66 


Eternal  Life. 


that  in  practical  life  probable  evidence  only  raises  a 
pro  visionary  belief;  that  being  obliged  to  act  some 
way  or  other,  we  act  upon  the  best  evidence  there  is, 
but  that  it  is  only  tentative  action ;  not,  so  to  speak, 
action  of  certainty.  Upon  aU  physical  subject  matter, 
it  will  be  said  the  law  of  belief  is  that  it  never  exceeds 
the  evidence  upon  which  it  rests,  but  keeps  exact  pace 
with  it,  and  this  law  issues  not  in  a  complete  con^dc- 
tion,  but  in,  at  the  least,  a  favourable  conjecture : 
whereas  in  our  use  of  probable  evidence  in  religion, 
our  belief  exceeds  the  premiss,  and  upon  a  ground  of 
probability  we  raise  acts  of  certainty;  we  found 
religious  language ;  we  found  prayer,  praise, — public 
and  private ;  churches,  institutions,  rites,  and  cere- 
monies, orders  of  ministry,  preaching,  sacraments,  and 
the  Catholic  Church.  How  can  you  raise  this  whole 
fabric,  it  will  be  said,  upon  a  probability  ?  Supposing 
the  correctness  of  your  principles  had  been  verified  by 
the  most  stringent  test  of  experiment,  and  it  were 
strictly  scientific  evidence  that  you  had  got,  what 
more  could  you  do  than  what  you  have  done  now  ? 
You  would  only  then  pray,  build  churches,  practise 
rites  of  worship.  Wliat  greater  acts  of  certainty  will 
you  do  in  heaven  ?  Previous,  then,  to  the  test  of  ex- 
periment, and  while  your  evidence  is  in  the  antecedent 
and  unverified  stage,  to  do  all  this  is  plainly  to  exceed 
your  premisses ;  while  at  the  same  time  every  step 
that  you  do  advance  beyond  them  is  without  a  ground 
to  rest  on. 

So  does  rigid  science  sometimes  talk  :  but  I  appre- 
hend it  would  be  very  difiicult  to  show  that  practical 


Eternal  Life. 


67 


certainty  was  never  founded  upon  a  premiss  of  pro- 
bability. It  would,  e.g.,  be  an  extraordinary  assertion 
to  make,  that  there  were  no  historical  questions  which 
were  fully  decided.  But  what  is  the  kind  of  evidence 
by  which  these  questions  are  decided  ?  It  is  what  we 
caU  circumstantial  evidence ;  that  is,  when  there  is  a 
certain  quantity  of  coincidence  in  the  facts  of  the  case, 
which  is  only  explained  by  one  particular  hypothesis, 
which  is  therefore  adopted  as  the  true  conclusion. 
But  such  evidence  as  this  in  the  nature  of  the  case 
wants  the  final  verification ;  because  there  is  in  every 
instance  an  abstract  possibility  of  a  solution  by  some 
other  explanation  different  from  this  one.  These 
questions  then  are  decided  upon  evidence  of  which  no 
ultimate  test  can  be  got ;  and  yet  are  not  many 
practically  completely  decided  ?  Or  what  are  we  to 
say  to  the  judgments  of  our  criminal  courts  ?  We 
take  away  a  man's  life — upon  what  evidence  ?  Cir- 
cumstantial :  it  wants  then  the  final  verification :  it 
is  therefore  unscientific ;  it  can  therefore,  upon  this 
theory  of  evidence,  only  justify  tentative  acts.  But 
it  would  be  very  difficult  to  say  that  to  deprive  a  man 
of  life  was  a  tentative  act :  it  is  certainly  a  final  act 
as  relates  to  the  individual ;  it  supposes  and  can  only 
be  justified  by  complete  practical  certainty  in  the  jury 
or  representative  of  society.  Every  single  verdict  in 
our  courts  of  justice  upon  circumstantial  evidence  is 
a  conclusion  which  theoretically  exceeds  the  evidence  ; 
some  other  supposition  is  in  the  abstract  possible,  as 
an  explanation  of  the  facts ;  they  are  therefore  un- 
scientific, untested  conclusions ;  and  yet  it  would  be 


68 


Eternal  Life. 


absurd  to  deny  that  in  multitudes  of  cases  no  one 
has  the  slightest  doubt  about  them.  It  would  be 
endless  to  pursue  this  subject  through  all  the  in- 
stances. Does  the  most  certain  evidence  from  testi- 
mony correspond  to  the  test  of  science,  and  not  want 
the  final  verification  ?  Even  in  science  itseK  is  there 
not  often  a  certainty  which  precedes  the  scientific ; 
the  natural  philosopher  is  practically  assured  from  the 
concurrence  of  data  before  him,  of  a  result,  before  the 
ultimate  test  is  got  ?  Whatever  may  be  urged  then 
in  the  abstract  against  the  excess  of  belief  over  evi- 
dence, as  a  matter  of  fact  life  and  history  are  full  of 
undoubted  conclusions  based  upon  this  excess.  How 
can  history  justify  its  assertions,  how  can  society  ex- 
plain its  acts,  except  upon  the  principle  of  this  ad- 
vance ?  Do  we  then  in  religion  advance  upon  our 
evidence  ?  Do  we  found  prayer,  worship,  institutions, 
upon  premisses  which  yet  await  final  verification  ? 
We  do  no  more  than  what  the  world  itself  does ;  it 
advances  upon  its  premisses.  Eeligion  and  the  world 
both  do  the  same  thing ;  they  look  at  reason  as  it 
exists  in  fact,  and  not  as  it  exists  in  abstract  con- 
ception. It  is  the  same  trial  of  evidence  which 
both  use ;  only  it  is  called  good  evidence  when  it 
serves  society,  and  no  evidence  when  it  sers^es  religion. 
In  matter  of  fact  there  is  such  a  thing  as  reasonable 
certainty  which  is  not  scientific  certainty.  There  can 
be  evidence  which  even  in  the  stage  of  probability 
cannot  practically  be  distinguished  from  certain.  And 
this  may  meet  the  objection  of  those  who  would  not 
regard  probability  as  adequately  expressing  the  proof 


Eternal  Life. 


69 


of  immortality,  which  they  would  call  an  intuitive 
conviction.  Under  probability  all  evidence  comes 
which  is  short  of  demonstration,  and  which  is  capable 
of  being  strengthened  by  verification,  as  this  intuitive 
l(  conviction,  however  strong,  must  be. 

What  then,  if  the  great  prophecy  of  Eeason  has  not 
yet  received  its  verification ;  if  the  interpretation  of 
the  facts  of  mind  wants  as  yet  the  final  touchstone  of 
experiment ;  a  future  _state  has  still  been  incorporated 
in  our  reason.  The  mind  of  man  looking  into  itself, 
has  gone  from  that  investigation  with  a  certainty 
of  its  destiny  as  the  result.  This  translation  to  a 
higher  state  has  entered  into  his  very  idea  of  humanity, 
and  become  part  of  the  very  portrait  of  man  to  him- 
self :  take  this  destiny  away  from  him,  and  he  be- 
comes at  once  another  being  to  himself.  What  name, 
therefore,  are  we  to  give  this  bold  reaction  against  the 
belief  in  a  future  state,  but  an  apostasy  from  reason. 
It  is  the  abandonment  of  the  great  prediction  of  reason, 
of  the  great  verdict  and  conclusion  of  reason  upon  the 
facts  of  consciousness.  It  is  the  recantation,  the  re- 
traction of  the  great  hope  of  humanity,  which  reason 
has  built  upon  the  premiss  of  humanity.  Suppose  for 
a  moment  that  this  exception  to  human  belief  were  the 
rule,  i.e.,  suppose  the  whole  of  humanity  without  this 
anticipation  in  it,  untenanted  by  this  prospect, — what 
an  appalling  abortion,  what  an  entombment  of  mind, 
should  we  have  !  What  a  terrible  extinction  of  the 
lamp  of  truth  !  What  a  spectacle  of  a  blind  immured 
reason  !  What  a  spectacle  of  death !  When  reason 
itself  has  opened  a  view  into  immortality,  to  put 


70 


Eternal  Life. 


up  contentedly  with  annihilation,  —  what  a  dread- 
ful stupefaction  of  the  human  spirit !  This  horrible 
materialist  indifference  to  the  extinction  of  our  being, 
this  taking  up  with  it  as  the  natural  end  of  man, 
What  are  we  to  call  it  ?  It  is  the  lapse  of  human 
nature.  It  is  a  fall.  This  low  apathetic  insensibility 
to  the  continuance  of  his  being,  is  the  recurrence  to  an 
animal  nature.  The  race  continues  indeed  :  and  what 
is  that  to  me,  if  I  perish  ?  And  if  to-morrow  I  am 
not,  what  am  I  to-day. 

It  is  indeed  true  that  this  philosophy  which  shuts 
man  up  in  life,  and  makes  him  a  being  coinciding 
with  this  life,  does  reflect  and  carry  out  Nature  in  a 
certain  part  of  her ; — that  it  can  extract  a  sort  of 
authorisation  from  her,  viewed  partially ;  and  appeal 
to  a  sense  in  which  it  represents  nature.    I  will  explain. 

Nature  does  undoubtedly  in  a  sense  make  life  an 
enclosure.  There  is  a  peculiar  machinery  in  her  by 
which  we  are  guarded  against  the  naked  efiect  of  the 
perpetual  foresight  of  death.  This  world  must  be 
kept  going,  and  it  is  necessary  for  its  being  kept 
going,  that  man  should  be  provided  with  a  shield  of 
instinct,  to  modify  this  prescience  of  reason ;  otherwise, 
were  there  no  barrier  against  the  full  piercing  force  of 
rational  foresight,  the  approach  of  death  would  paralyse 
him,  would  benumb  his  faculties  and  crush  his  ener- 
gies. He  would  be  prostrated ;  he  could  not  possibly 
keep  up  his  interest  in  this  world  and  its  afiairs, 
especially  as  he  advanced  in  the  journey  of  life.  But 
it  is  essential,  for  the  very  working  of  the  system,  that 
man  should  be  able  to  keep  up  his  interest  in  it,  and 


Eternal  Life. 


71 


devote  his  attention  to  it.  There  is  therefore  a  secret 
machinery  in  nature  which  makes  him  able  to  do  so, 
by  interposing  an  instinctive  enclosure  in  the  very 
sense  of  life.  He  is  mechanically,  as  it  were,  disabled 
from  realising  the  prospect  of  an  end  in  all  its  keen- 
ness ;  and  life  includes  and  bounds  him,  resisting  even 
in  idea  any  contradiction  to  itself.  The  effect  of  this 
secret  contrivance  in  the  structure  of  our  minds  is  to 
station  us  in  the  present.  I  do  not  refer  here  to  the 
power  which  mere  sensual  pleasure  has  of  engulphing 
us  in  the  vulgar  sensation  of  physical  life,  but  to  a 
much  finer  and  more  subtle  power  appended  to  life 
itself,  whereby,  as  long  as  it  lasts,  it  grasps  hold  of  us, 
and  encircles  us ;  being  up  to  the  last  a  future  and  a 
prospect,  as  well  as  a  present.  So  successful  indeed  is 
the  art  of  nature,  that  even  when  under  some  agony 
of  mind,  and  extreme  disgust  with  life,  men  try  to 
realise  the  end  of  it,  as  a  consolation  to  benumb  the 
pain  of  the  present  moment,  they  find  that  they  can- 
not by  all  their  eff'orts  do  it ;  they  may  say — Oh  mihi 
tum  quam  mollita  ossa  quiescant ;  but  life  is  life  still, 
and  they  cannot  extricate  themselves  from  its  em- 
braces. Nature  provides  with  a  marvellous  cunning 
for  her  own  conservation,  and  contrives  that  her  struc- 
ture should  never  at  any  moment  fail ;  l)ut  that,  when 
pure  reason  would  appal  and  prostrate,  then  should  be 
introduced  a  special  instinct  to  counteract  it.  Mean- 
time the  foresight  of  reason  is  not  deadened,  but  only 
softened ;  there  is  an  interim  provided  during  which 
the  religious  view  of  death  can  work  in  the  mind 
calmly,  without  being  forced  and  extorted  by  its  naked 
approach. 


72 


Eternal  Life. 


The  mechanism  in  nature  then  which  was  primarily 
designed  for  good,  man  can  use  for  evil ;  he  can  apply 
what  was  only  intended  as  a  mitigation  to  stupefy  and 
harden ;  he  can  abandon  himself  to  those  instincts, 
and  if  he  does  he  can  succeed  in  drugging  the  presci- 
ence of  reason,  in  relieving  himself  from  the  sense  of 
futurity  and  obtaining  a  complete  absorption  in  this 
life.  He  does  not  then  stand  in  need  of  relio;ious 
hope ;  he  can  do  without  it ;  life  is  his  whole ; 
life  is  made  perpetual  by  the  view  of  its  end  being- 
cut  off.  Yielding  himself  up  to  this  management 
of  nature,  he  grows  and  expands  as  a  member  of  this 
world  ;  he  pursues  success,  and  does  not  feel  its  tran- 
sciency,  because  life  is  boundless  to  him  till  it  closes, 
and  endless  till  it  ends  ;  it  is  an  imaginary  immortality 
which  encloses  him  in  sevenfold  security,  even  while 
he  stands  upon  its  very  last  edge.  Death  does  not 
affect  his  situation  in  the  least  to  himself ;  it  is  a  word 
to  him ;  he  knows  the  word,  but  the  meaning  is 
hidden  from  him  ;  so  thick  a  veil  of  physical  instinct 
wraps  him  round,  and  intercepts  the  rational  fore- 
sight. And  lastly,  imagination  completes  the  work  of 
enclosure  by  creating  a  future  life  which  is  only  the 
reflection  of  the  present.  Even  the  heathen  poet  saw 
that  the  common  mind  did  not  really  apprehend  and 
embrace  what  was  so  contrary  to  experience  as  an  end, 
— a  total  termination  of  connection  with  this  world ; 
he  saw  that  it  only  realised  things  going  on,  and  not 
their  stopping ;  and  that  the  end  which  it  did  embrace 
was  a  counterfeit ; — non  sincerum  sonat ;  that  it  was 
the  idea  of  an  end  which  was  not  an  end, — of  a  life 
which  still  somehow  continued  as  a  reflection  of  itself 


Eternal  Life. 


73 


The  evening  light  reveals  the  real  landscape,  though 
it  may  reveal  it  dimly ;  while  the  mirror  in  the  full 
blaze  of  light  only  shows  us  a  reflection  of  ourselves, 
and  the  scene  in  which  we  are.  The  modest  light  of 
faith  discloses  a  real  future  life.  But  there  is  a  de- 
ceptive future  life,  which  is  only  a  man  throwing 
forward  into  the  darkness  of  futurity  an  image  of 
himself  here,  with  his  reputation,  his  credit,  his 
success,  his  position,  the  tokens  of  his  favour  and 
the  symbols  of  his  pride ;  a  mock  eternity,  which  is 
only  the  reflection  in  the  mirror — only  life  after  it  is 
over  made  to  go  on  again. 

j  The  philosophy  then  before  us  may  call  itself,  in  a 
sense,  a  cojjy  of  nature.  That  is  to  say,  it  raises  itself 
upon  these  instincts  in  nature.  It  takes  the  en- 
closure which  natural  instinct  makes  of  life,  and  which 
man  uses  practically  to  imbed  himself  in  life,  wrapping 
even  futurity  in  it ;  and  it  converts  it  into  the  formal 
doctrine  of  a  termination  of  existence  and  subjective 
immortality.  It  might  be  thought  beforehand,  how  can 
the  instinct  of  self-preservation  allow  a  man  to  accept 
the  doctrine  of  his  own  annihilation  ?  How  can  he  go 
on  with  such  an  end  facing  him  ?    We  leave  ofi"  say- 

I  ing  that  he  ought  not,  that  he  can  is  the  difiiculty. 
But  nature,  we  have  seen,  solves  the  riddle.  Comtism, 
however,  represents  a  part  of  nature  only,  and  a 
lower  part ;  it  falsifies  and  misrepresents  the  whole. 
It  reflects  the  self-preservation  and  instincts  of  the 
system,  and  contradicts  the  reason  of  the  individual. 
The  prescient  reason  is  at  war  with  these  physical 
instincts  :  it  is  sensible  to  the  shock  of  the  idea  of 


74 


Eternal  Life. 


annihilation,  and  resists  it  with  its  whole  force  as 
dreadful. 

If,  from  the  Comtist  argument  against  Christianity, 
which  is  simply  a  tacit  ignoring  of  probable  evidence, 
we  turn  to  the  moral  improvement  and  advance  upon 
Christianity,  we  shall  see  that  there  too  there  is  a 
conspicuous  failure.  Its  argument,  as  we  have  seen, 
is  a  pure  assumption ;  its  moral  improvement  is  a 
literal  blunder  and  misapprehension.  The  Gospel  says 
— Love  thy  neighbour  as  thyself ;  the  new  precept  is. 
Love  thy  neighbour  and  not  thyself — or  Altruism,  as 
it  is  called.  Infidelity  refines  upon  the  religious  moral 
standard,  and  gives  itself  credit  for  a  higher  moral 
sense.  But  the  new  precept  is  a  simple  mistake  of 
one  thing  for  another.  One  mode  of  self-love  is  a 
wrong  relation  to  others, —  a  man  pursuing  his  own 
advantage  at  the  expense  of  others ;  another  is  the 
pure  relation  of  a  man  to  himself.  By  virtue  of  this 
relation  he  necessarily  wishes  his  own  good  ;  the  wish 
is  included  in  his  conscious  existence,  and  is  no  more 
selfish  in  him  than  it  is  selfish  in  him  to  6e  himself. 
But  the  Comtist  confounds  these  two  acts,  and  takes 
the  term  selfish  from  its  true  application  to  a  man's 
wrong  relationship  to  others,  to  apply  it  to  his  naked 
relationship  to  himself.  To  take  from  under  man, 
however,  this  fundamental  relationship  to  himself,  is 
not  to  raise  him  to  a  higher  pinnacle  of  purity,  but 
rather  to  fling  human  nature  down  a  precipice  and 
shatter  it  into  fragments. 

But  this  new  precept  is  specially  applied  to  a  future 
state  as  a  motive  of  action.    What  are  you  pursuing, 


Eternal  Life. 


75 


he  says,  in  your  look  thither  but  your  own  advantage  ? 

I  — there  is  nothing  sublime  in  this  motive. 

'  Those,  then,  who  thus  degrade  under  the  name 
of  selfishness,  all  those  solemn  feelings  and  profound 
wishes  that  a  man  has  respecting  himself  and  what  he 
is  to  be,  are  arguing  from  a  word.  It  relates  to  self, 
they  say,  and  is  therefore  selfish.  But, — we  would 
ask  of  one  who  thus  reasons, —  when  you  come 
to  the  actual  in  man,  can  you  deny  that  there  is 
something  excellent  and  lofty  in  his  pursuing  the  good 
of  a  distant  and  supernatural  sphere,  from  which  he  is 
divided  by  a  whole  gulf  of  being  ?  Can  you  help  your- 
self recognising  a  nobility  in  this  reaching  forward  to- 
ward the  happiness  of  an  unseen  world  at  the  sacrifice 
of  the  present,  though  it  is  his  own  happiness  that  he 
aims  at  ?  Is  it  not  something  which  you  cannot  help 
morally  admiring,  though  it  is  for  himself  that  he 
wishes  ?  And  if  so,  is  not  your  argument  from  self 
gone  ?  You  have  been  reasoning  from  a  word,  but 
when  it  comes  to  the  reality,  your  moral  sense  will  not 
allow  you  practically  to  call  such  a  man  a  selfish  man. 
You  confess  that  under  certain  circumstances  there  is 
something  high  in  the  pursuit  of  one's  own  good ;  and 
what  is  real,  what  is  fact,  shoves  aside  what  is  verbal 
and  abstract.  It  must  be  observed  that  even  with 
respect  to  this  world,  the  power  of  acting  for  a  distant 
object,  of  realising  distant  good,  and  reaching  forward 
to  it  over  an  intervening  period  of  labour,  has  some- 
thing moral  in  it.  The  will  acts  freely  when  the 
object  is  remote,  not  by  compulsion ;  and  therefore 
the  inward  energy  of  the  man  is  more  tested,  and  a 

I 


76 


Eternal  Life. 


higher  act  of  self-exertion  is  produced.  The  stimulus 
of  immediate  reward,  or  of  immediate  necessity,  is  a 
slavish  motive  to  action :  it  acts  as  a  constrainingr 
force  from  without,  and  the  will  plays  a  servile  part 
in  acting  upon  it.  But  the  distance  of  an  end  raises 
the  rank  of  the  labour  undergone  for  it.  And  thoug-h 
in  mixed  human  character  a  part  of  conduct,  moral  in 
itself,  may  have  its  morality  reversed,  by  its  being 
made  subordinate  to,  and  the  instrument  of,  an  immoral 
and  vile  part  of  the  man  which  is  nearer  to  himself, 
such  an  objection  cannot  apply  to  the  pursuit  of  a 
distant  supernatural  good.  In  the  case  of  such  an 
aim,  at  the  cost  of  present  prizes,  an  admiration  of  it 
is  an  instinctive  emotion  which  you  cannot  repress,  it 
rises  up  in  you  before  any  philosophical  doubt  can 
intercept  it.  The  facts  of  our  nature  disprove  the 
argument  from  words ;  when  we  look  at  the  actual 
thing  in  human  conduct,  it  captivates  us.  Dismiss 
words  then.  This  respect  to  self  and  its  ultimate  good 
pertains  to  the  very  nobility  of  man's  nature  ;  without 
which  all  the  moral  solidity  of  his  character  would 
evaporate,  nature  would  be  unmoored  and  drift  away 
from  its  anchorage. 

For  it  is  forgotten,  in  this  charge  of  self-interested- 
ness  against  the  motive  of  a  future  life,  that  this  motive 
is  not  only  a  desire  for  our  happiness,  but  a  desire  at 
the  same  time  for  our  own  higher  o-oodness.  The  two 
wishes  are  essentially  bound  up  together  in  the  Chris- 
tian doctrine  of  a  future  state,  as  not  only  a  con- 
tinuation of  existence,  not  only  an  improvement  in  the 
circumstances  of  existence,  but  as  an  ascent  of  exist- 


Eternal  Life. 


77 


ence.    In  the  Christian  doctrine  of  a  future  state  we 
have  this  remarkable  conjunction,  that  the  real  belief 
in  the  doctrine  goes  together  with,  and  is  fastened  to 
the  moral  sublimity  of  the  state.    In  the  Pagan  doc- 
trine both  of  these  were  absent ;  the  life  itself  was 
poor,  shado\vy,  and  sepulchral,  on  the  one  hand ;  and 
the  belief  in  it  was  feeble  and  volatile  on  the  other ; 
j    in  the  Christian  doctrine  both  are  present  together, 
'    the  glorious  nature  of  life  itself,  and  the  reality  of 
the  belief  in  it.  The  reason  is  that  no  ground  lays  firm 
\     hold  on  our  minds  for  a  continuation  of  existence  at 
i     all,  except  such  a  ground  as  makes  that  continuation 
!     an  ascent.     The  prolongation  of  it,  and  the  rise  in 
I     the  scale  of  it,  go  together ;  because  the  true  belief 
is,  in  its  very  nature,  an  aspiration,  and  not  a  mere 
level  expectation  of  the  mind ;  and  therefore,  while  a 
low  eternity  obtained  no  credit,  the  Gospel  doctrine 
I    inspired  a  strong  conviction,  because  it  dared  to  intro- 
duce the  element  of  glory  into  the  destiny  of  man. 

The  Christian  confessor  and  martyr,  then,  who  gave 
up  this  world  to  obtain  the  glory  of  the  next,  was, 
according  to  the  new  philosophers,  selfish  ;  he  aimed 
at  his  own  gratification  :  "  he  should  have  learnt,"  say 
they  "  from  another  school,  the  true  spirit  of  self- 
abandonment.  Behold  the  genuine  confessor,  the 
authentic  martyr ;  we  keep  the  good  of  this  solid  ma- 
terial world  indeed,  but  all  our  interest  in  heaven  we 
unreservedly  surrender  :  we  give  it  up  without  a  mur- 
mur :  ours  is  the  very  romance  of  self-sacrifice  which  has 
left  the  Gospel  standard  far  behind ; — the  last  discovery 
of  moral  progress."   This  may  be  said,  but  who,  except 


78 


Eternal  Life. 


a  disciple  of  this  new  law,  could  ever  suppose  that  self- 
interestedness  showed  itself  in  pursuing  the  distant 
vision,  and  self-abandoning  generosity  in  grasping  the 
present  fact ;  who  else  could  really  think  that  future 
state,  which  was  itself  moral,  immoral  as  a  motive 
and  object. 

But,  in  the  next  place,  there  is  an  error  at  the  very 
root  of  the  description  of  the  desire  for  immortality 
given  by  this  school ;  it  is  represented  as  being  a  dif- 
ferent affection  altogether  from  what  it  really  is,  in 
being  represented  as  a  desire  for  one's-self  only.  This 
is  a  false  .description  of  it,  as  we  should  say  of  any 
physical  instinct  which  was  wrongly  described  in  a 
book  of  natural  philosophy.  The  two  desires,  for  one's 
own  and  others'  immortality,  are  in  fact  bound  up  with 
each  other,  in  one  affection,  and  make  but  one  affection 
between  them.  This  affection  is  essentially  not  a  lonely 
one ;  no  human  being  ever  desired  a  future  life  for 
himself  alone ;  he  wants  it  for  all  for  whom  he  enter- 
tains an  affection  here,  all  the  good  whom  he  has  known, 
or  whom  he  has  only  heard  of. 

Let  us  see  then.  This  philosophy  allows  us  and 
exhorts  us  to  take  pleasure  in  a  subjective  immor- 
tality—  which  is  practically  posthumous  reputation. 
But  how  does  the  morality  of  posthumous  reputation, 
as  a  motive,  stand  ?  It  might  be  said,  indeed — a  man 
in  contemplating  his  own  greatness  after  death,  con- 
templates a  fact,  in  which,  when  it  comes,  he  will  have 
no  interest  whatever ;  because  he  will  not  be  alive  to 
take  pleasure  in  it ;  the  opinion  about  him  will  exist 
in  the  minds  of  others,  but  will  his  dead  body  know 


Eternal  Life. 


79 


it  ?  One  who  did  not  examine,  then,  might  say,  there 
is  nothing  self-interested  in  the  desire  for  posthumous 
glory;  whereas  he  will  be  interested  in  future  happi- 
ness when  he  has  it ;  and  therefore  that  desire  is  a  self- 
interested  one.  But  this  would  be  a  most  deceptive 
comparison.  Is  a  man,  because  he  will  have  no  interest 
in  posthumous  fame,  when  it  comes,  therefore  free  from 
any  motive  of  self-interestedness  now  in  desiring  it  ? 
No  :  the  future  fact  which  he  puts  before  him  acts  by 
enhancing  his  own  present  existence,  and  magnifying 
himself  to  himself  at  tlie  moment ;  he  regards  himself 
as  filling  so  much  of  the  world's  space  ;  and  though 
part  of  this  space  is  beyond  the  confines  of  his  own 
life  ;  still  that  he  will  fill  so  much  space  in  the  future 
raises  his  own  estimate  of  himself  now.  The  motive 
of  posthumous  greatness  has  thus  its  secret  root  in 
the  present ;  the  greatness  flows  backward  from  a  ficti- 
tious and  delusive  seat  in  the  future,  to  its  real  home 
in  present  life  and  consciousness.  The  current,  which 
appears  to  flow  onward  and  forward  into  posterity,  is 
returning  all  the  time  by  a  side  channel  to  the  living 
man,  and  is  reabsorbed  in  the  fountain-head  of  present 
self    The  future  prospect  is  a  present  exaltation. 

Compare  then,  as  a  moral  motive,  the  regard  to  this 
subjective  immortality  which  this  school  sanctions, 
with  the  affection  connected  with  a  real  immortality, 
which  this  school  condemns.  The  motive  of  a  pos- 
thumous reputation  is  like  any  other  motive  of  self- 
interest  ;  a  good  man  may  have  it,  because  he  is  not 
denied  the  satisfaction  of  it,  and  a  bad  man  may  have 
it,  and  the  most  selfish  egotism  be  the  sole  inspiration 


8o 


Eternal  Life. 


of  the  wish,  because  the  wish  centres  upon  the  in- 
dividual, the  man's  self.  It  is  therefore  a  neutral 
motive.  But  the  motive  of  a  real  immortality,  as 
just  described,  cannot  be  defined  so  coldly ;  it  demands 
a  higher  term,  because  it  works  essentially  by  the  law 
of  love.  The  Christian  hope  of  immortality  cannot  be 
an  egotistic  hope,  because  the  affection  does  not  centre 
upon  an  individual ;  it  is  in  its  very  essence  social ; 
love  enters  into  its  very  composition,  and  it  looks  for- 
ward to  a  communion  of  good  as  its  very  end  and  goal. 
Every  one  indeed  can  test  the  scope  of  this  affec- 
tion ;  and  even  the  deaths  we  read  of,  or  those  which 
only  imagination  pictures,  bear  mtness  to  the  same. 
AVhen  anything  beautiful  in  human  character  takes  its 
departure  from  the  world,  what  is  the  first  ejaculation 
of  the  human  heart,  but  one  for  its  immortality.  Can 
it  perish — the  priceless  treasure  of  this  personal  life. 
The  survivor  says  no  :  such  being  must  go  on  being. 
He  pursues  the  sacred  form  through  unimaginable 
worlds — even  the  bodily  form ;  for  even  the  body  is 
spiritual  so  far  as  it  is  a  manifestation  of  the  personal 
being ;  and  he  feels  that,  though  carried  away  and 
shrouded  in  the  mist  which  encircles  human  existence, 
it  is  safe  somewhere.  Being  therefore  would  fijid  out 
being,  the  one  left,  the  one  gone,  drawn  toward  it  by  the 
current  which  penetrates  all  the  spiritual  creation,  and 
the  desu'e  of  immortality  is  as  much  for  another  as  for 
om'self.  It  is  not  a  selfish  instinct,  it  is  not  a  neutral 
one,  it  is  a  moral  and  generous  one.  The  individual 
desires  the  immortality,  the  perpetuation,  the  regenera- 
tion, the  ascent  and  the  glory  of  that  human  society 


Eternal  Life. 


8i 


with  which  he  finds  himself  connected  now,  and 
aspires  after  membership  with  the  great  community 
in  its  state  of  exaltation.  Christianity  knows  nothing 
of  a  hope  of  immortality  for  the  individual  alone,  but 
only  of  a  glorious  hope  for  the  individual  in  the  Body, 
in  the  eternal  society  of  the  church  triumphant. 


THE  REVERSAL  OF  HUMAN 
JUDGMENT. 

Matthew  xix.  30. 
"  Many  that  are  first  shall  be  last ;  and  the  last  shall  be  first." 

T)ERHAPS  there  is  hardly  any  person  of  reflection 
to  whom  the  thought  has  not  occurred  at  times, 
of  the  final  judgment  turning  out  to  be  a  great 
subversion  of  human  estimates  of  men.  Society  forms 
its  opinions  of  men,  and  places  some  on  a  high  pin- 
nacle ;  they  are  favourites  with  it,  religious  and  moral 
favourites.  Such  judgments  are  a  necessary  and  pro- 
per part  of  the  j^resent  state  of  things ;  they  are  so, 
quite  independently  of  the  question  whether  they  are 
true  or  not ;  it  is  proper  that  there  should  be  this  sort 
of  exj)ression  of  the  voice  of  tlie  day  ;  the  world  is  not 
nothing,  because  it  is  transient ;  it  must  judge  and 
speak  upon  such  evidence  as  it  has,  and  is  capable  of 
seeing.  Therefore  those  characters  of  men  are  by  all 
means  to  be  respected  by  us,  as  members  of  this  world ; 
they  have  their  place,  they  are  part  of  the  system. 
But  does  the  idea  strike  us  of  some  enormous  subver- 
sion of  human  judgments  in  the  next  world ;  some 
vast  rectification  to  realise  which  now,  even  if  we 
could,  would  not  be  good  for  us  ?    Such  an  idea  would 


The  Revci'sal  of  11 uman  Judgment.  83 

not  be  without  support  from  some  of  those  character- 
istic prophetic  sayings  of  our  Lord,  which,  like  the 
slanting  strokes  of  the  sun's  rays  across  the  clouds, 
throw  forward  a  track  of  mysterious  light  athwart  the 
darkness  of  the  future.  Such  is  that  saying  in  which 
a  shadow  of  the  Eternal  Judgment  seems  to  come  over 
us — "  Many  that  are  first  shall  be  last ;  and  the  last 
shall  be  first."  It  is  impossible  to  read  this  saying 
without  an  understanding  that  it  was  intended  to 
throw  an  element  of  wholesome  scepticism  into  the 
present  estimate  of  human  character,  and  to  check  the 
idolatry  of  the  human  heart  which  lifts  up  its  favourites 
with  as  much  of  self-complacency  as  of  enthusiasm, 
and  in  its  worship  of  others  flatters  itself. 

Indeed,  this  language  of  Scripture,  which  speaks  of 
the  subversion  of  human  judgments  in  another  world, 
comes  in  connection  with  another  language  with  which 
it  most  remarkably  fits  in,  language  which  speaks  very 
decidedly  of  a  great  deception  of  human  judgments  in 
this  world.  It  is  observable  that  the  Gospel  prophecy 
of  the  earthly  future  of  Christianity  is  hardly  what  we 
should  have  expected  it  beforehand  to  be ;  there  is  a 
great  absence  of  brightness  in  it ;  the  sky  is  overcast 
with  clouds,  and  birds  of  evil  omen  fly  to  and  fro  ; 
there  is  an  agitation  of  the  air,  as  if  dark  elements 
were  at  work  in  it ;  or  it  is  as  if  a  fog  rose  up  before 
our  eyes,  and  treacherous  lights  were  moving  to  and 
fro  in  it,  which  we  could  not  trust.  Prophecy  would 
fain  presage  auspiciously,  but  as  soon  as  she  casts  her 
eye  forward,  her  note  saddens,  and  the  chords  issue  in 
melancholy  and  sinister  cadences  which  depress  the 


84  The  Reversal  of  Htinian  Judgment. 

hearer's  mind.  And  what  is  the  burden  of  her  strain  \ 
It  is  this.  As  soon  as  ever  Christianity  is  cast  into 
the  world  to  begin  its  history,  that  moment  there 
begins  a  great  deception.  It  is  a  pervading  thought 
in  Gospel  prophecy — the  extraordinary  capacity  for 
deceiving  and  being  deceived  that  would  arise  under 
the  Gospel ;  it  is  spoken  of  as  something  peculiar  in 
the  world.  There  are  to  be  false  Christs  and  false 
prophets,  false  signs  and  wonders ;  many  that  will 
come  in  Christ's  name,  saying,  I  am  Christ,  and  de- 
ceive many ;  so  that  it  is  the  parting  admonition  of 
Christ  to  His  disciples — "  Take  heed,  lest  any  man 
deceive  you  " —  as  if  that  would  be  the  great  danger. 
And  this  great  quantity  of  deception  was  to  culminate 
in  that  One  in  whom  all  power  of  signs  and  lying 
wonders  should  reside,  even  that  Antichrist,  who  as 
God  should  sit  in  the  temple  of  God,  showing  himself 
that  he  is  God.  Thus  before  the  true  Christ  was 
known  to  the  world,  the  prophecy  of  the  false  one 
was  implanted  deep  in  the  heart  of  Christianity. 

When  we  come  to  the  explanation  of  this  mass  of 
deception  as  it  applies  to  the  Christian  society,  and 
the  conduct  of  Christians,  we  find  that  it  consists  of  a 
great  growth  of  specious  and  showy  effects,  which  will 
in  fact  issue  out  of  Christianity,  not  implying  sterhng 
goodness.  Christianity  will  act  as  a  great  excitement 
to  human  nature,  it  will  communicate  a  great  impulse, 
it  will  move  and  stir  man's  feelings  and  intellect ;  this 
impulse  will  issue  in  a  great  variety  of  high  gifts  and 
activities,  much  zeal  and  ardour.  But  this  brUliant 
manifestation  will  be  to  a  large  extent  lackins:  in  the 


The  Reversal  of  Jliinian  Judgment. 


85 


substance  of  the  Christian  character.    It  will  be  a 
great  show.    That  is  to  say,  there  will  be  underneath 
it  the  deceitful  human  heart — the  natura  callida,  as 
Thomas  5,  Kempis  calls  it,  quae  se  semper  pro  fine 
liabet.    We  have  even  in  the  early  Christian  Church 
that  specious  display  of  gifts  which  put  aside  as 
secondary  the  more  solid  part  of  religion,  and  which 
St.  Paul  had  so  strongly  to  check.    Gospel  prophecy 
goes  remarkably  in  this  direction,  as  to  what  Chris- 
tianity would   do   in   the  world  ;   that   it  would 
not  only  bring   out  the   truth   of  human  nature, 
but  would,  like  some  powerful  alchemy,  elicit  and 
extract  the  falsehood  of  it  ;  that  it  would  not  only 
develope  what  was   sincere  and   sterling  in  man, 
but  what  was  counterfeit  in  him  too.     Not  that  t 
Cliristianity  favours  falsehood,  any  more  than  the  Law 
fiivoured  sin  because  it  brought  out  sin.    The  Law,  as 
St.  Paul  says,  brought  out  sin  because  it  was  spiritual, 
and  forced  sin  to  be  sin  against  light.    So  in  the  case 
of  Christianity.    If  a  very  high,  pure,  and  heart- 
searching  religion  is  brought  into  contact  with  a 
corrupt  nature,  the  nature  grasps  at  the  greatness  of 
the  religion,  but  will  not  give  up  itself ;  yet  to  unite 
the  two  requires  a  self-deception  the  more  subtle  and 
potent  in  proportion  to  the  purity  of  the  religion.  And 
certainly,  comparing  the  hypocrisy  of  the  Christian  witli 
that  of  the  old  world,  we  sec  that  the  one  was  a  weak  pro- 
duction in  comparison  with  the  other,  whicli  is  indeed 
a  very  powerful  creation  ;  throwing  itself  into  feeling 
and  language  with  an  astonishing  freedom  and  elasti- 
city, and  possessing  wonderful  spring  and  largeness. 


86  The  Reversal  of  Htiiiiau  J iidgment. 

There  is,  however,  one  very  remarkable  utterance  of 
our  Lord  Himself  upon  this  subject,  which  deserves 
special  attention.  "  Many  will  say  to  me  in  that  day, 
Lord,  Lord,  have  we  not  prophesied  in  Thy  name,  and 
in  Thy  name  cast  out  devils,  and  in  Thy  name  done 
many  wonderful  works  ?  And  then  will  I  profess 
unto  them,  I  never  knew  you."  Now  this  is  a  very 
remarkable  prophecy,  for  one  reason,  that  in  the  very 
first  start  of  Christianity,  uj)on  the  very  threshold  of 
its  entrance  into  the  world,  it  looks  through  its  success 
and  universal  reception,  into  an  ulterior  result  of  that 
victory — a  counterfeit  profession  of  it.  It  sees  before 
the  first  nakedness  of  its  birth  is  over,  a  prosperous 
and  flourishing  religion,  which  it  is  worth  while  for 
others  to  pay  homage  to,  because  it  reflects  credit  on 
its  champions.  Our  Lord  anticipates  the  time  when 
active  zeal  for  Himself  will  be  no  guarantee.  And  we 
may  observe  the  difference  between  Christ  and  human 
founders.  The  latter  are  too  glad  of  any  zeal  in  their 
favour,  to  examine  very  strictly  the  tone  and  quality 
of  it.  They  grasp  at  it  at  once ;  not  so  our  Lord. 
He  does  not  want  it  even  for  Himself,  unless  it  is  pure 
in  the  individual.  But  this  statement  of  our  Lord  s  is 
principally  important,  as  being  a  prophecy  relating  to 
the  earthly  future  of  Christianity.  It  places  before 
us  public  religious  leaders,  men  of  influence  in  the 
religious  world,  who  spread  and  push  forward  by  gifts 
of  eloquence  and  powers  of  mind,  the  truths  of  His 
religion,  whom  yet  He  will  not  accept,  because  of  a 
secret  corruptness  in  the  aim  and  spirit  with  which 
they  did  their  work.    The  prophecy  puts  before  us  the 


The  Reversal  of  lluiiian  yiidgvieul.  87 

fiict  of  'A  great  deal  of  work  being  clone  in  the  Cliurcli, 
and  outwardly  good  and  zealous  work,  upon  the  same 
motive  in  substance,  upon  which  worldly  men  do  their 
work  in  the  world ;  and  stamps  it  as  the  activity  of 
corrupt  nature.  The  rejection  of  this  class  of  religious 
workers  is  complete,  although  they  have  been,  as  the 
language  itself  declares,  forward  and  active  for  spiritual 
objects,  and  not  only  had  them  on  their  lips. 

Here  then  we  have  a  remarkable  subversion  of 
human  judgments  in  the  next  world  foretold  by  our 
Lord  Himself;  for  those  men  certainly  come  forward 
with  established  religious  characters  to  which  they 
appeal ;  they  have  no  douljt  of  their  position  in  God's 
kingdom,  and  they  speak  with  the  air  of  men  whose 
claims  have  been  acquiesced  in  by  others,  and  by  num- 
bers. And  thus  a  false  Christian  growth  is  looked  to 
in  Gospel  prophecy,  which  will  be  able  to  meet  even  the 
religious  tests  of  the  current  day,  and  sustain  its  preten- 
sions, but  which  will  not  satisfy  the  tests  of  the  last  day. 

We  are  then  perhaps  at  first  sight  surprised  at  the 
sternness  of  their  sentence,  and  are  ready  to  say  with 
the  trembling  disciple — "  Who  then  shall  be  saved  ? " 
But  when  we  reflect  upon  it,  we  shall  see  that  it  is 
not  more  than  what  meets  the  case;  i.e.,  that  we 
know  of  sources  of  error  in  the  estimate  of  human 
character  which  will  account  for  great  mistakes  being 
made  ;  which  mistakes  will  have  to  be  rectified. 

One  source  of  mistake  then  is,  that  while  the 
Gos2)el  keeps  to  one  point  in  its  classification  of  men, 
— viz.,  the  motive,  by  which  alone  it  decides  their 
character,  the  mass  of  men  in  fact  find  it  difficult  to 


88  The  Reversal  of  Human  y^idgment. 

do  so.  They  have  not  that  firm  hold  of  the  moral  idea 
which  prevents  them  from  wandering  from  it,  and 
being  diverted  by  irrelevant  considerations,  they  think 
of  the  spirituality  of  a  man  as  belonging  to  the  de- 
partment to  which  he  is  attached,  the  profession  he 
makes,  the  subject  matter  he  works  upon,  the  habitual 
language  he  has  to  use.  The  sphere  of  these  men, 
of  whom  the  estimate  was  to  be  finally  reversed, 
was  a  religious  one, —  viz.,  the  Church,  and  this 
was  a  remarkable  prop  to  them.  Now,  with  re- 
spect to  this,  it  must  be  observed  that  the  Church 
is  undoubtedly  in  its  design  a  spiritual  society, 
but  it  is  also  a  society  of  this  world  as  well ;  and  it 
depends  upon  the  inward  motive  of  a  man  whether  it 
is  to  him  a  spiritual  society  or  a  worldly  one.  The 
Church  as  soon  as  ever  it  is  embodied  in  a  visible  collec- 
tion or  society  of  men,  who  bring  into  it  human  nature, 
with  human  influences,  regards,  points  of  view,  esti- 
mates, aims,  and  objects — I  say  the  Church,  from  the 
moment  it  thus  embodies  itself  in  a  human  society,  is 
the  world.  Individual  souls  in  it  convert  into  reality 
the  high  professed  principles  of  the  Body,  but  the 
active  stock  of  motives  in  it  are  the  motives  of  human 
nature.  Can  the  visible  Church  indeed  aff"ord  to  do 
without  these  motives  ?  Of  course  it  cannot.  It 
must  do  its  work  by  means  of  these  to  a  great  extent, 
just  as  the  world  does  its  work.  Eeligion  itself  is 
beautiful  and  heavenly,  but  the  machinery  for  it  is 
very  like  the  machinery  for  anything  else.  I  speak 
of  the  apparatus  for  conducting  and  administering  the 
visible  system  of  it.    Is  not  the  machinery  for  all 


The  Reversal  of  Hiinian  Jndgmciii.  89 

causes  and  objects  much  the  same,  communication 
with  others,  management,  contrivance,  combination, 
adaptation  of  means  to  end  ?  Eeligion  then  is  itself  a 
painful  struggle,  but  religious  machinery  provides  as 
pleasant  a  form  of  activity  as  any  other  machinery  pos- 
sesses ;  and  it  calls  forth  and  exercises  much  the  same 
kind  of  talents  and  gifts  that  the  machinery  of  any 
other  department  does,  that  of  a  government  office,  or 
a  public  institution,  or  a  large  business.  The  Church 
as  a  part  of  the  world  must  have  active-minded  per- 
sons to  conduct  its  policy  and  affairs ;  which  persons 
must,  by  their  very  situation,  connect  themselves  with 
spiritual  subjects,  as  being  the  subjects  of  the  society; 
they  must  express  spiritual  joys,  hopes,  and  fears,  ap- 
prehensions, troubles,  trials,  aims,  and  wishes.  These 
are  topics  which  belong  to  the  Church  as  a  department. 
A  religious  society  then,  or  religious  sphere  of  action, 
or  religious  sphere  of  subjects,  is  irrelevant  as  regards 
the  spirituality  of  the  individual  person,  which  is  a 
matter  of  inward  motive. 

To  take  an  instance  of  a  motive  of  this  world. 
Statesmen  and  leaders  of  political  parties  may  of 
course  act  upon  a  spiritual  motive  in  their  work,  and 
have  done  so ;  viz.,  the  single  desire  to  do  good  in  the 
sphere  of  God's  temporal  providence  ;  and  the  motive 
of  their  work  may  stand  on  a  perfect  equality  with 
that  of  winning  souls ;  nevertheless  the  world's  great 
men  do  often  act  uj^on  a  known  class  of  secondary 
motives.  Dismissing  then  the  grosser  and  coarser 
class  of  selfish  aims,  which  conspicuously  and  glar- 
ingly put  the  religious  and  secular  worker  on  a  level, 


90  The  Reversal  of  Tluinan  yttdgment. 

so  far  as  they  adopt  them,  let  us  take  that  absorbing 
frailty,  which  sometimes  figures  as  a  virtue.  You  see 
in  the  case  of  a  political  man  all  the  action  of  life,  all  its 
vital  energy  gathering  round  himself,  and  accumulat- 
ing into  a  kind  of  egotistic  capital,  which  is  advancing 
and  growing,  as  life  and  action  go  on — a  rej)resenta- 
tion  of  the  man  to  himself,  which  goes  by  the  name  of 
greatness  or  glory  ;  an  ever  accompanying  mirror  into 
w^hicli  he  looks  for  his  stimulus  and  inspiration.  This 
great  abstraction,  this  reflection  and  adumbration  of 
himself,  as  it  magnifies,  becomes  his  one  measure,  it 
gives  the  worth  to  everything  he  does ;  whatever 
swells  the  bulk  of  this  colossal  impersonation  is  valu- 
able, whatever  does  not  is  indifferent  to  him.  It 
wholly  empties  and  depopulates  the  simj^le  and  pure 
region  of  motive,  until  it  stands  alone  within  the  man, 
draining  all  the  freshness  of  his  spirit,  and  drying  up 
the  sap  of  nature,  till  he  only  feels  one  wisli  which  can 
speak  to  him.  Everything  is  grudged  which  does  not 
feed  this  fount.  Natural  interests  die,  even  the  im- 
press of  personal  attachments  fades  away ;  whatever 
is  outside  the  central  impulse  is  in  the  way  ;  he  does 
not  want  it,  he  can  do  without  it ;  everything  else  is 
only  instrumental  to  this  one  devouring  end.  If  this 
great  phantom  which  represents  himself  is  growing, 
all  is  right ;  it  must  be  growing  to  the  last ;  it  is  a 
duty,  the  first  of  duties,  the  sum  of  all  duty,  the  final 
cause  of  his  being,  and  his  conscience  is  pricked  if  he 
misses  any  opportunity  of  an  accession  to  this  mystic 
treasury,  this  chamber  of  imagery  within  him.  Nor 
is  the  fault  only  one  of  gigantic  minds  ;  we  may  see 


The  Reversal  of  Human  yudgment.  91 

that  even  ordinary  men  are  sometimes  taken  up  with 
creating  a  smaller  sample  of  this  personification.  But 
what  substantial  difference  is  there  in  this  class  of 
motives  as  they  act  ujDon  a  religious  leader,  and  as 
they  act  upon  a  political  leader  ?  The  former,  if  he  is 
of  an  ambitious  mind,  has  the  same  kind  of  ambition 
that  the  other  has  ;  he  wants  success,  and  the  spread 
of  his  own  principles  and  his  own  following  is  his 
success.  Is  there  not  as  much  human  glory  in  the 
brilliant  summit  of  religious  j)roselytism,  as  in  the 
triumph  of  a  certain  set  of  political  principles  ?  Is  it 
not  a  temporal,  an  earthly,  and  a  worldly  reward  to  be 
called  Eabbi,  Rabbi  ?  Christ  said  it  was.  If  then 
one  of  the  great  critics  of  man  could  speak  of  "  the 
muddy  source  of  the  lustre  of  public  actions,"  the 
scrutiny  may  be  carried  as  weU  to  a  religious  as  a 
political  sphere.  The  truth  is,  wherever  there  is  action, 
effort,  aim  at  certain  objects  and  ends ; — wherever  the 
flame  of  human  energy  mounts  up  ;  all  this  may  gather 
either  round  a  centre  of  pure  and  unselfish  desire,  or 
round  a  centre  of  egotism  ;  and  no  superiority  in  the 
subject  of  the  work  can  prevent  the  lapse  into  the  in- 
ferior motive.  In  the  most  different  fields  of  objects 
this  may  be  the  same  :  it  is  a  quality  of  the  indi- 
vidual. Whatever  he  does,  if  there  is  a  degeneracy 
in  the  temper  of  his  mind,  it  all  collects  and  gathers, 
by  a  false  direction  which  it  receives  from  the  false 
centre  of  attraction,  round  himself  The  subject  or 
cause  which  a  man  takes  up  makes  no  difference.  The 
religious  leader  can  feel,  alike  with  the  political,  and  as 
strongly,  this  lower  source  of  inspiration ;  can  be  ac- 


92  The  Reversal  of  Human  Judgment. 

companied  by  this  idolised  representation  of  self,  tliis 
mirror  in  which  he  sees  himself  growing  and  expand- 
ing in  life's  area.  Are  the  keen  relish  for  success,  the 
spirit  which  kindles  at  human  praise,  and  the  gusts  of 
triumph — the  feelings  which  accompany  action  upon 
a  theatre,  guaranteed  no  place  in  a  man,  by  his  having 
religious  zeal  ?  These  are  parts  of  human  nature,  and 
it  is  not  zeal  but  something  else  which  purifies  human 
nature.  So  far  as  religion  only  supplies  a  man  of  keen 
earthly  susceptibilities,  and  desire  of  a  place  in  the 
world,  with  a  subject  or  an  arena,  so  far  that  man  stands 
on  the  same  ground  with  a  politician  who  is  stimu- 
lated by  this  aim.  They  are  the  same  identical  type 
of  men  in  different  spheres.  There  is  a  conventional 
difference  between  them,  but  there  is  one  moral  head- 
ing. Both  may  be  doing  valuable  work,  important 
service  in  a  public  sense  ;  but  if  you  do  not  think  the 
politician  a  spiritual  man  because  he  is  a  useful  man, 
no  more  must  you  think  the  active  man  in  the  religious 
sphere  to  be  so.    Spirituality  belongs  to  the  motive. 

There  is  a  great  common  stock  of  secondary 
motives  then,  of  lower  stimulus  and  incentive,  in  the 
religious  and  secular  worker,  which  feeds  their  efforts, 
keeps  them  up  to  the  mark,  and  supplies  them  with 
strength  and  power.  But  there  is  this  difference  be- 
tween the  two,  in  the  action  of  these  motives.  Worldly 
passions  tend  to  be  made  deeper  and  keener  in  those 
who  by  their  place  and  profession  are  obliged  to  dis- 
avow and  to  disguise  them.  So  in  Joshua's  punish- 
ment of  Achan,  or  in  St.  Peter's  punishment  of  Ananias 
and  Sapphira,  regard  doubtless  was  had  to  the  secrecy 


The  Reversal  of  Human  jfttdgment.  93 

of  the  vice  in  both  cases, — avarice.  The  avarice  was 
stronger,  more  corrosive,  Ijecausc  it  was  under  disguise  ; 
the  disguise  of  a  high  profession ;  in  tlie  one  case  of  a 
soldier  of  God,  fighting  in  a  sacred  war ;  in  the  other 
case  of  a  convert,  just  admitted  into  the  kingdom  of 
Heaven  upon  earth.  So  in  the  case  of  ambition  ;  it  is 
a  deeper  and  stronger  vice,  as  a  concealed  vice ;  it 
gains  force  by  suppression  ;  that  kind  of  suppression 
which  is  not  a  moral  conquest  of  it,  but  only  an  out- 
ward cover.  Thus,  in  a  soldier,  or  a  lawyer,  or  one 
who  has  embarked  on  any  worldly  calling,  there  is  less 
danger  in  it,  for  the  very  reason  that  it  is  open  and 
avowed ;  it  is  a  recognised  motive ;  omnia  vitia  in 
aperto  leviora,  as  Seneca  says  ;  but  when  it  exists 
under  the  special  profession  of  religion,  and  a  religion 
of  humility,  and  has  to  be  cloaked  ;  not  only  is  there 
the  fault  of  concealment,  but  the  vice  itself  is  more 
intense  by  the  concealment.  It  is  a  law  of  our  nature 
that  it  should  be.  The  passion  obliged  to  act  under 
a  disguise,  becomes  different  in  its  nature  from  the 
open  one  ;  gains  a  more  morl^id  strength,  and  corrupts 
the  character.  And  thus  the  ambition  of  the  clerical 
order  has  always  been  attended  by  peculiarly  repulsive 
features,  which  have  been  discriminated  by  the  moral 
sense  of  mankind. 

It  must  be  observed,  however,  that  the  Gospel  has, 
with  that  penetration  which  belongs  to  it,  extended 
the  province  and  field  of  human  pride  from  direct  self, 
to  self,  as  indirectly  touched  and  affected  by  the  success 
of  party,  or  school,  or  cause.  We  see  this  extension  of 
the  signification  of  the  vice  implied  in  Christ's  denun- 


94  T^fis  Reversal  of  Human  Judgment. 

ciation  of  the  proselytism  of  the  Pharisees, — that  they 
compassed  heaven  and  earth  to  make  one  disciple  :  be- 
cause if  pride  only  applied  to  what  exalted  a  man's 
self  directly  or  personally,  the  Pharisee  might  have 
replied — "  I  have  no  private  interest  in  the  propaga- 
tion of  the  doctrines  of  my  school ;  it  is  no  profit  to 
myself  personally ;  I  only  devote  myself  to  it  because 
the  propagation  of  religious  truth,  or  that  which  we 
believe  to  be  such,  is  a  duty,  and  if  we  value  our  owti 
belief  we  must  be  animated  by  the  wish  to  impart 
it  to  others.  We  must  be  zealous  in  winning  over 
others  to  our  ot\h  sect,  provided  we  believe  in  the 
creed  and  principles  of  our  sect,  which  we  show  we  do 
by  belonging  to  it."  The  Pharisee  might  have  said 
this ;  but  our  Lord  saw  in  the  Pharisee  an  aim  which 
was  not  selfish  in  a  direct  sense ;  but  which  still  in- 
directly, and  on  that  account  not  the  less  strongly, 
touched  the  proud  self  of  the  Pharisee.  His  rebuke 
recognises  and  proclaims  a  relation  to  truth  itself  in 
man,  which  may  be  a  selfish  one.  It  was  a  new  teach- 
ing, a  disclosure  beneath  the  surface.  Truth  is  an 
article  of  tangible  value,  it  gives  conscious  rank  to  its 
possessors,  it  gives  them  the  position  of  success  in  the 
highest  department — viz.,  that  of  the  reason  and  judg- 
ment ;  while  to  miss  getting  it  is  failure  in  that  de- 
partment. Man  can  thus  fight  for  truth  as  a  piece  of 
property,  not  upon  a  generous  principle,  but  because 
his  idea  of  truth — the  correctness  or  falsity  of  that  idea 
— tests  his  own  victory  or  failure.  And  his  way  of 
fighting  for  it  is  spreading  it.  Its  gaining  ground,  its 
being  embraced  by  numbers,  ratifies  his  own  decision. 


p 

The  Reversal  of  Human  Judgment.  95 

Thus  a  selfish  appreciation  of  truth,  and  not  the 
motive  of  charity  only,  is  able  to  lead  to  efibrts  for  its 
propagation ;  and  there  is  such  a  thing  as  corrupt  pro- 
selytism,  the  eager  desire  to  get  hold  of  other  minds 
representing  the  false  relations  to  truth,  and  not  the 
simple  and  disinterested  ones.  Proselytising  pharisa- 
ism  is  the  first  shadow  of  that  great  manifestation  of 
the  tyrannical  aspect  of  truth,  or  man's  idea  of  truth 
which  afterwards  became  so  terrible  a  distortion  of 
Christianity.  Deep  concern  for  human  souls  would 
never  have  produced  spiritual  despotism  or  persecu- 
tion ;  it  was  a  selfish  relation  to  truth  to  begin 
with  which  produced  these ;  it  was  the  lapse  of  the 
human  heart  from  charity  to  pride  in  the  matter.  The 
vindictive  punishment  of  error  did  not  arise  from  the 
sense  of  value  of  truth,  but  from  men  holding  truth,  or 
their  idea  of  it,  as  a  selfish  treasure  ;  contrary  opinions 
threatened  their  hold  of  this  treasure  :  its  forced  accept- 
ance rooted  them  in  possession  of  it.  The  propagation 
of  truth  became  the  pride  of  dominion  over  souls. 

One  would  not  of  course  exclude  from  the  sphere 
of  religion  the  motive  of  esprit  de  coiys :  it  is  un- 
doubtedly a  great  stimulus,  and  in  its  measure  is  con- 
sistent with  all  simplicity  and  singleness  of  heart ;  but 
in  an  intense  form,  when  the  individual  is  absorbed  in 
a  blind  obedience  to  a  body,  it  corrupts  the  quality  of 
religion  ;  it  ensnares  the  man  in  a  kind  of  self-interest; 
and  he  sees  in  the  success  of  the  body  the  reflection 
of  himself.  It  becomes  an  egotistic  motive.  There 
has  been  certainly  an  immense  produce  from  it ;  but 
the  type  of  religion  it  has  produced  is  a  deflection  from 


96  The  Reversal  of  Httmaji  yiidgment. 

simplicity  ;  it  may  possess  striking  and  powerful  quali- 
ties, but  it  is  not  like  the  free  religion  of  the  heart ; 
and  there  is  that  difference  between  the  two,  which 
there  is  between  what  comes  from  a  second  -  hand 
source  and  from  the  fountain  head.  It  has  not  that 
naturalness  (in  the  highest  sense)  which  alone  gives 
beauty  to  rehgion. 

Again,  those  who  feel  that  they  have  a  mission  may 
convert  it  into  a  snare  to  themselves.  Doubtless,  if, 
according  to  St.  Paul,  "  he  who  desire th  the  office  of  a 
bishop  desireth  a  good  work,"  so  one  who  has  a  mission 
to  do  some  particular  work  has  a  good  office  given 
him.  Still,  where  life  is  too  prominently  regarded  in 
this  light,  the  view  of  life  as  a  mission  tends  to  super- 
sede the  view  of  it  as  trial  and  probation.  The  mission 
becomes  the  final  cause  of  life.  The  generality  may 
be  born  to  do  their  duty  in  that  station  of  life  in 
which  it  has  pleased  God  to  call  them ;  but  in  their 
own  case  the  mission  overtops  and  puts  into  the  shade 
the  general  purpose  of  life  as  probation ;  the  generality 
are  sent  into  the  world  for  their  own  moral  benefit,  but 
they  are  rather  sent  into  the  world  for  the  benefit  of 
that  world  itself.  The  outward  object  with  its  display 
and  machinery  is  apt  to  reduce  to  a  kind  of  insignifi- 
cance the  inward  individual  end  of  life.  It  appears  small 
and  commonplace.  The  success  of  their  own  individual 
probation  is  assumed  in  embarking  upon  the  larger 
work,  as  the  less  is  included  in  the  greater ;  it  figures 
as  a  preliminary  in  their  eyes,  which  may  be  taken  for 
granted ;  it  appears  an  easy  thing  to  them  to  save  their 
own  souls,  a  thing  so  to  speak  for  anybody  to  do. 


The  Reversal  of  Human  Jtidgment.  97 

What  has  been  dwelt  upon  hitherto  as  a  source  of 
fiilse  magnifying  and  exaltation  of  human  character, 
has  been  the  invisibility  of  men's  motives.  But  let  us 
take  another  source  of  mistake  in  human  judgment. 

Nothing  is  easier,  when  we  take  gifts  of  the  intel- 
lect and  imagination  in  the  abstract,  than  to  see  that 
these  do  not  constitute  moral  goodness.  This  is  in- 
deed a  mere  truism  ;  and  yet,  in  the  concrete,  it  is  im- 
possible not  to  see  how  nearly  they  border  upon  count- 
ing as  such ;  to  what  advantage  they  set  off  any  moral 
good  there  may  be  in  a  man  ;  sometimes  even  supply- 
ing the  absence  of  real  good  with  what  looks  extremely 
like  it.  On  paper  these  mental  gifts  are  a  mere  string  of 
terms  ;  we  see  exactly  what  these  terms  denote,  and  we 
cannot  mistake  it  for  something  else.  It  is  plain  that 
eloquence,  imagination,  poetical  talent,  are  no  more 
moral  goodness  than  riches  are,  or  than  health  and 
strength  are,  or  than  noble  birth  is.  We  know  that 
bad  men  have  possessed  them  just  as  much  as  good 
men.  Nevertheless,  take  them  in  actual  life,  in  the 
actual  effect  and  impression  they  make,  as  they  express 
a  man's  best  moods  and  highest  perceptions  and  feel- 
ings, and  what  a  wonderful  likeness  and  image  of  what 
is  moral  do  they  produce.  Think  of  the  effect  of  refined 
power  of  expression,  of  a  keen  and  vivid  imagination 
as  applied  to  the  illustration  and  enrichment  of  moral 
subjects, — to  bringing  out,  e.g.,  with  the  whole  force  of 
intellectual  sympathy,  the  delicate  and  high  regions  of 
character, — does  not  one  who  can  do  this  seem  to  have 
all  the  goodness  which  he  expresses  ?  And  it  is  quite 
possible  he  may  have ;  but  this  does  not  prove  it. 

H 


98         The  Reversal  of  Hwnan  Judgment. 

There  is  nothing  more  in  this  than  the  faculty  of 
imagination  and  intellectual  appreciation  of  moral 
things.  There  enters  thus  unavoidably  often  into  a 
great  religious  reputation  a  good  deal  which  is  not 
religion  but  power. 

Let  us  take  the  character  which  St.  Paul  draws. 
It  is  difficult  to  believe  that  one  who  had  the  tongue 
of  men  and  of  angels  would  not  be  able  to  persuade 
the  world  that  he  himself  was  extraordinarily  good. 
Eather  it  is  part  of  the  fascination  of  the  gift,  that  the 
grace  of  it  is  reflected  in  the  possessor.  But  St.  Paul 
gives  him,  besides  thrilling  speech  which  masters  men's 
spirits  and  carries  them  away,  those  profound  depths 
of  imagination  which  still  and  solemnise  them  ;  which 
lead  them  to  the  edge  of  the  unseen  world,  and  excite 
the  sense  of  the  awful  and  supernatural ;  he  has  the 
understanding  of  all  mysteries.  And  again,  knowledge 
unfolds  all  its  stores  to  him,  with  which  to  illustrate 
and  enrich  spiritual  truths.  Let  one  then,  so  wonder- 
ful in  mental  gifts,  combine  them  with  the  utmost 
fervour,  with  boundless  faith,  before  which  everything 
gives  way ;  boundless  zeal,  ready  to  make  even  splen- 
did sacrifices ;  has  there  been  any  age  in  which  such  a 
man  would  have  been  set  down  as  sounding  and  empty? 
St.  Paul  could  see  that  such  a  man  might  yet  be  with- 
out the  true  substance — goodness ;  and  that  all  his 
gifts  could  not  guarantee  it  to  him  ;  but  to  the  mass  his 
own  eloquence  would  interpret  him,  the  gifts  would 
carry  the  day,  and  the  brilliant  partial  virtues  would 
disguise  the  absence  of  the  general  grace  of  love. 

Gifts  of  intellect  and  imagination,  poetical  power, 


The  Reversal  of  Hziinan  yudgmejti.  99 

and  the  like,  are  indeed  in  themselves  a  department  of 
worldly  prosperity.  It  is  a  very  narrow  view  of  pro- 
sperity that  it  consists  only  in  having  property ;  a 
certain  kind  of  gifts  are  just  as  much  worldly  pro- 
sperity as  riches  ;  nor  are  they  less  so  if  they  belong  to 
a  religious  man,  any  more  than  riches  are  less  pro- 
sperity because  a  religious  man  is  rich.  We  call 
these  gifts  worldly  prosperity,  because  they  are  in 
themselves  a  great  advantage,  and  create  success,  in- 
fluence, credit,  and  all  which  man  so  much  values; 
and  at  the  same  time  they  are  not  moral  goodness, 
because  the  most  corrupt  men  may  have  them. 

But  even  the  gifts  of  outward  fortune  themselves 
have  much  of  the  effect  of  gifts  of  mind  in  having  the 
semblance  of  something  moral.  They  set  ofi"  what 
goodness  a  man  has  to  such  immense  advantage,  and 
heighten  the  eff"ect  of  it.  Take  some  well-disposed 
person,  and  suppose  him  suddenly  to  be  left  an  enor- 
mous fortune,  he  would  feel  himself  immediately  so 
much  better  a  man.  He  would  seem  to  himself  to 
become  suddenly  endowed  with  a  new  large  hearted- 
ness  and  benevolence.  He  would  picture  himself  the 
generous  patron,  the  large  dispenser  of  charity,  the 
promoter  of  all  good  in  the  world.  The  power  to 
become  such  would  look  like  a  new  disposition.  And 
in  the  eyes  of  others  too,  his  goodness  would  appear  to 
have  taken  a  fresh  start.  Even  serious  piety  is  recog- 
nised more  as  such  ;  it  is  brought  out  and  placed  in 
high  relief,  when  connected  with  outward  advantages  ; 
and  so  the  gifts  of  fortune  become  a  kind  of  moral 
addition  to  a  man. 


I  oo        The  Reversal  of  Human  Judgment. 

Action  then,  on  a  large  scale,  and  the  overpowering 
effect  of  great  gifts,  are  what  produce,  in  a  great  degree, 
what  we  call  the  canonization  of  men — the  popular 
judgment  which  sets  them  up  morally  and  spiritually 
upon  the  pinnacle  of  the  temple,  and  which  professes 
to  be  a  forestalment,  through  the  mouth  of  the  Church 
or  of  religious  society,  of  the  final  judgment.  How 
decisive  is  the  world's,  and,  not  less  confident,  the  visible 
Church's  note  of  praise.  It  is  just  that  trumpet  note 
which  does  not  bear  a  doubt.  How  it  is  trusted  !  With 
what  certainty  it  speaks  !  How  large  a  part  of  the 
world's  and  Church's  voice  is  praise  !  It  is  an  immense 
and  ceaseless  volume  of  utterance.  And  by  all  means 
let  man  praise  man,  and  not  do  it  grudgingly  either ; 
let  there  be  an  echo  of  that  vast  action  which  goes 
on  in  the  world,  provided  we  only  speak  of  what  we 
know.  But  if  we  begin  to  speak  of  what  we  do  not 
know,  and  which  only  a  higher  judgment  can  decide, 
we  are  going  beyond  our  province.  On  this  question 
we  are  like  men  who  are  deciding  irreversibly  on  some 
matter  in  which  everything  depends  upon  one  element 
in  the  case,  which  element  they  cannot  get  at.  We 
appear  to  know  a  great  deal  of  one  another,  and  yet  if 
we  reflect,  what  a  vast  system  of  secrecy  the  moral 
world  is.  How  low  down  in  a  man  sometimes  (not 
always)  lies  the  fundamental  motive  which  sways  his 
life  ?  But  this  is  what  everything  depends  on.  Is  it 
an  unspiritual  motive  ?  ^Is  there  some  keen  passion 
connected  with  this  world  at  the  bottom  ?  Then  it 
corrupts  the  whole  body  of  action.  There  is  a  good 
deal  of  prominent  religion  then,  which  keeps  up  its 


The  Reversal  of  Ihimaji  Judgment.  loi 

character,  even  when  this  motive  betrays  itself ;  great 
gifts  fortify  it,  and  people  do  not  see  because  they  will 
not.  But  at  any  rate  there  is  a  vast  quantity  of  re- 
ligious position  which  has  this  one  great  point  un- 
decided beneath  it ;  and  we  know  of  tremendous 
dangers  to  which  it  is  exposed.  Action  upon  a 
theatre  may  doubtless  be  as  simple-minded  action 
as  any  other ;  it  has  often  been ;  it  has  been  often 
even  childlike  action ;  the  apostles  acted  on  a  theatre  ; 
they  were  a  spectacle  to  men  and  to  angels.  Still 
what  dangers  in  a  spiritual  point  of  view  does  it  ordi- 
narily include — dangers  to  simplicity,  inward  probity, 
sincerity  !  How  does  action  on  this  scale  and  of  this 
kind  seem,  notwithstanding  its  religious  object,  to  pass 
over  people  not  touching  one  of  their  faults,  leaving — ■ 
more  than  their  infirmities — the  dark  veins  of  evil  in 
their  character  as  fixed  as  ever.  How  will  persons 
sacrifice  themselves  to  their  objects?  They  would 
benefit  the  world,  it  would  appear,  at  their  own  moral 
expense  ;  but  this  is  a  kind  of  generosity  which  is  peril- 
ous policy  for  the  soul,  and  is  indeed  the  very  mint  in 
which  the  great  mass  of  false  spiritual  coinage  is  made. 

On  the  other  hand,  while  the  open  theatre  of 
spiritual  power  and  energy  is  so  accessible  to  corrupt 
motives,  which,  though  undermining  its  truthfulness, 
leave  standing  all  the  brilliance  of  the  outer  manifesta- 
tion ;  let  it  be  considered  what  a  strength  and  power 
of  goodness  may  be  accumulating  in  unseen  quarters. 
The  way  in  which  man  bears  temptation  is  what  de- 
cides his  character ;  yet  how  secret  is  the  system  of 
temptation  ?    Who  knows  what  is  going  on  ?  What 


I02        The  Reversal  of  Human  jfudgment. 

tlie  real  ordeal  has  been  ?  What  its  issue  was  ?  So 
with  respect  to  the  trial  of  griefs  and  sorrows,  the  world 
is  again  a  system  of  secrecy.  There  is  something  par- 
ticularly penetrating,  and  which  strikes  home  in  those 
disappointments  which  are  specially  not  extraordinary, 
and  make  no  show.  What  comes  naturally  and  as  a 
part  of  our  situation  has  a  probing  force,  grander 
strokes  have  not ;  there  is  a  solemnity  and  stateliness 
in  these,  but  the  blow  which  is  nearest  to  common 
life  gets  the  stronger  hold.  Is  there  any  particular 
event  which  seems  to  have,  if  we  may  say  so,  a  kind 
of  malice  in  it  which  provokes  the  manichean  feeling 
in  our  nature,  it  is  something  which  we  should  have  a 
difficulty  in  making  appear  to  any  one  else,  any  special 
trial.  Compared  with  this  inner  grasp  of  some  stroke 
of  Providence,  voluntary  sacrifice  stands  outside  of  us. 
After  all  the  self-made  trial  is  a  poor  disciplinarian 
weapon ;  there  is  a  subtle  masterly  irritant  and  pro- 
voking point  in  the  genuine  natural  trial,  and  in  the 
natural  crossness  of  events,  which  the  artificial  thing 
cannot  manage  ;  we  can  no  more  make  our  trials  than 
we  can  make  our  feelings.  In  this  way  moderate  de- 
privations are  in  some  cases  more  difficult  to  bear  than 
extreme  ones.  "  I  can  bear  total  obscurity,"  says 
Pascal,  "  well  enough ;  what  disgusts  me  is  semi- 
obscurity  ;  I  can  make  an  idol  of  the  whole,  but  no 
great  merit  of  the  half."  And  so  it  is  often  the  case 
that  what  we  must  do  as  simply  right,  and,  which 
would  not  strike  even  ourselves,  and  stiU  less  anybody 
else,  is  just  the  hardest  thing  to  do.  A  work  of  super- 
erogation would  be  much  easier.    All  this  points  in 


The  Revei'-sal  of  Human  Judgment.  103 

the  direction  of  great  work  going  on  under  common 
outsides  where  it  is  not  noticed ;  it  hints  at  a  secret 
sphere  of  growth  and  progress ;  and  as  such  it  is  an 
augury  and  presage  of  a  harvest  which  may  come 
some  day  suddenly  to  light,  which  human  judgments 
had  not  counted  on. 

It  is  upon  such  a  train  of  thought  as  this 
which  has  been  passing  through  our  minds,  that 
we  raise  ourselves  to  the  reception  of  that  solemn 
sentence  which  Scripture  has  inscribed  on  the  curtain 
which  hangs  down  before  the  Judgment-Seat — "  The 
first  shall  be  last,  and  the  last  shall  be  first."  The 
secrets  of  the  tribunal  are  guarded,  and  yet  a  finger 
points  which  seems  to  say — "  Beyond,  in  this  direction, 
behind  this  veil,  things  are  different  from  what  you 
will  have  looked  for." 

Suppose,  e.g.,  any  supernatural  judge  should  appear 
in  the  world  now,  and  it  is  evident  that  the  scene  he 
would  create  would  be  one  to  startle  us ;  we  should 
not  soon  be  used  to  it ;  it  would  look  strange ;  it 
would  shock  and  appal ;  and  that  from  no  other  cause 
than  simply  its  reductions  ;  that  it  presented  characters 
stripped  bare,  denuded  of  what  was  irrelevant  to  good- 
ness, and  only  with  their  moral  substance  left.  The 
judge  would  take  no  cognisance  of  a  rich  imagination, 
power  of  language,  j)oetical  gifts  and  the  like,  in 
themselves,  as  parts  of  goodness,  any  more  than  he 
would  of  riches  and  prosperity ;  and  the  moral  re- 
siduum left  would  appear  perhaps  a  bare  result.  The 
first  look  of  divine  justice  would  strike  us  as  injustice  ; 
it  would  be  too  pure  a  justice  for  us ;  we  should  be 


1 04        i  he  Reversal  of  Human  ytidgment. 

long  in  reconcilincy  ourselves  to  it.  Justice  would 
appear,  like  the  painter's  gaunt  skeleton  of  emblematic 
meaning,  to  be  stalking  through  the  world,  smiting 
with  attenuation  luxuriating  forms  of  virtue.  Forms, 
changed  from  what  we  knew,  would  meet  us,  strange 
unaccustomed  forms,  and  we  should  have  to  ask  them 
who  they  were — "  you  were  flourishing  but  a  short  while 
ago,  what  has  happened  to  you  now  And  the  answer, 
if  it  spoke  the  truth,  would  be — "  nothing,  except  that 
now,  much  which  lately  counted  as  goodness,  counts 
as  such  no  longer ;  we  are  tried  by  a  new  moral 
measure,  out  of  which  we  issue  different  men ;  gifts 
which  have  figured  as  goodness  remain  as  gifts,  but 
cease  to  be  goodness."  Thus  would  the  large  sweep 
made  of  human  canonisations  act  like  blight  or  vol- 
canic fire  upon  some  rich  landscape,  converting  the 
luxury  of  nature  into  a  dried-u]D  scene  of  bare  stems 
and  scorched  vegetation. 

So  may  the  scrutiny  of  the  last  day,  by  discover- 
ing the  irrelevant  material  in  men's  goodness,  reduce 
to  a  shadow  much  exalted  earthly  character.  Men 
are  made  up  of  professions,  gifts,  and  talents,  and  also 
of  themselves,  but  all  so  mixed  together  that  we  can- 
not separate  one  element  from  another ;  but  another 
day  must  show  what  the  moral  substance  is,  and  what 
is  only  the  brightness  and  setting  off  of  gifts.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  same  day  may  show  where,  though  the 
setting  off  of  gifts  is  less,  the  substance  is  more.  If 
there  will  be  reversal  of  human  judgment  for  evil, 
there  will  be  reversal  of  it  for  good  too.  The  solid 
work  which  has  gone  on  in  secret,  under  common 


The  Reversal  of  Human  Judgment.  105 

exteriors,  will  then  sj^ring  into  light,  and  come  out  in 
a  glorious  aspect.  Do  we  not  meet  with  surprises  of 
this  kind  here,  which  look  like  auguries  of  a  greater 
surprise  in  the  next  world,  a  surprise  on  a  vast  scale. 
Those  who  have  lived  under  an  exterior  of  rule,  when 
they  come  to  a  trying  moment  sometimes  disappoint 
us ;  they  are  not  equal  to  the  act  required  from  them ; 
because  their  forms  of  duty,  whatever  they  are,  have 
not  touched  in  reality  their  deeper  fault  of  character, 
meanness,  or  jealousy,  or  the  like,  but  have  left  them 
where  they  were ;  they  have  gone  on  thinking  them- 
selves good  because  they  did  particular  things,  and 
used  certain  language,  and  adopted  certain  ways  of 
thought,  and  have  been  utterly  unconscious  all  the 
time  of  a  corroding  sin  within  them.  On  the  other 
hand  some  one  who  did  not  promise  much,  comes  out 
at  a  moment  of  trial  strikingly  and  favourably.  This 
is  a  surprise  then  which  sometimes  happens,  nay,  and 
sometimes  a  greater  surprise  still,  when  out  of  the  eater 
comes  forth  meat,  and  out  of  a  state  of  sin  there  springs 
the  soul  of  virtue.  The  act  of  the  thief  on  the  cross 
is  a  surprise.  Up  to  the  time  when  he  was  judged 
he  was  a  thief,  and  from  a  thief  he  became  a  saint. 
For  even  in  the  dark  labyrinth  of  evil  there  are  unex- 
pected outlets ;  sin  is  established  by  habit  in  the  man, 
but  the  good  principle  which  is  in  him  also,  but  kept 
down  and  suppressed,  may  be  secretly  growing  too ;  it 
may  be  undermining  it,  and  extracting  the  life  and 
force  from  it.  In  this  man  then,  sin  becomes  more 
and  more,  though  holding  its  place  by  custom,  an 
outside  and  coating,  just  as  virtue  does  in  the  de- 


io6       The  Reversal  of  Human  Judgment. 

teriorating  man,  till  at  last,  by  a  sudden  effort  and  the 
inspiration  of  an  opportunity,  the  strong  good  casts  off 
the  weak  crust  of  evil  and  comes  out  free.  We  witness 
a  conversion. 

But  this  is  a  large  and  mysterious  subject — the 
foundation  for  high  virtue  to  become  apparent  in  a 
future  world,  which  hardly  rises  up  above  the  ground 
here.  We  cannot  think  of  the  enormous  trial  which 
is  undergone  in  this  world  by  vast  masses  without  the 
thought  also  of  some  sublime  fruit  to  come  of  it  some 
day.  True,  it  may  not  emerge  from  the  struggle  of 
bare  endurance  here,  but  has  not  the  seed  been  sown  ? 
Think  of  the  burden  of  toil  and  sorrow  borne  by  the 
crowds  of  poor  :  we  know  that  pain  does  not  of  itself 
make  people  good ;  but  what  we  observe  is,  that  even 
in  those  in  whom  the  trial  seems  to  do  something,  it 
yet  seems  such  a  failure.  What  inconstancy,  violence, 
untruths  !  The  pathos  in  it  all  moves  you.  What  a 
tempest  of  character  it  is  !  And  yet  when  such  trial 
has  been  passed  we  involuntarily  say — has  not  a 
foundation  been  laid  ?  And  so  in  the  life  of  a  soldier, 
what  agonies  must  nature  pass  through  in  it.  While 
the  present  result  of  such  trial  is  so  disappointing,  so 
little  seems  to  come  of  it !  Yet  we  cannot  think  of 
what  has  been  gone  through  by  countless  multitudes 
in  war,  of  the  dreadful  altar  of  sacrifice,  and  the  Hn- 
gering  victims,  without  the  involuntary  idea  arising 
that  in  some,  even  of  the  irregular  and  undisciplined, 
the  foundation  of  some  great  purification  has  been 
laid.  We  hear  sometimes  of  single  remarkable  acts 
of  virtue,  which  spring  from  minds  in  which  there  is 


The  Reversal  of  JhmiaH  Jiidgment.  107 

not  the  habit  of  virtue.  Such  acts  point  to  a  founda- 
tion, a  root  of  virtue  in  man,  deeper  than  habit ;  they 
are  sudden  leaps  which  show  an  unseen  spring  in  a 
man,  which  are  able  to  compress  in  a  moment  the 
growth  of  years. 

To  conclude.  The  Gospel  language  throws  doubt 
upon  the  final  stabihty  of  much  that  passes  current 
here  with  respect  to  character,  upon  established  judg- 
ments, and  the  elevations  of  the  outward  sanctuary- 
It  lays  down  a  wholesome  scepticism.  We  do  not  do 
justice  to  the  spirit  of  the  Gospel  by  making  it  enthu- 
siastic simply,  or  even  benevolent  simply.  It  is  saga- 
cious, too.  It  is  a  book  of  judgment.  Man  is  judged 
in  it.  Our  Lord  is  judge.  We  cannot  separate  our 
Lord's  divinity  from  His  humanity ;  and  yet  we  must 
be  blind  if  we  do  not  see  a  great  judicial  side  of  our 
Lord's  human  character ; — that  severe  type  of  under- 
standing, in  relation  to  the  worldly  man,  which  has 
had  its  imperfect  representation  in  great  human  minds. 
He  was  unspeakably  benevolent,  kind,  compassionate  ; 
true,  but  He  was  a  Judge.  It  was  indeed  of  His 
very  completeness  as  man  that  He  should  know  man ; 
and  to  know  is  to  judge.  He  must  be  blind  who,  in 
the  significant  acts  and  sayings  of  our  Lord,  as  they 
unroll  themselves  in  the  pregnant  page  of  the  Gospel, 
does  not  thus  read  His  character ;  he  sees  it  in  that 
insight  into  pretensions,  exposure  of  motives,  laying 
bare  of  disguises  ;  in  the  sayings — "  Believe  it  not 
"Take  heed  that  no  man  deceive  you;"  "Behold,  I 
have  told  you  ;"  in  all  that  profoundness  of  reflection 
in  regard  to  man,  which  great  observing  minds  among 


io8        The  Reversal  of  Human  Judgment. 

mankind  liave  shown,  though  accompanied  by  much  of 
frailty,  anger,  impatience,  or  melancholy.  His  human 
character  is  not  benevolence  only  ;  there  is  in  it  wise 
distrust — that  moral  sagacity  which  belongs  to  the 
perfection  of  man. 

Now  then,  as  has  been  said,  this  scepticism  with 
regard  to  human  character  has,  as  a  line  of  thought, 
had  certain  well-known  representatives  in  great  minds, 
who  have  discovered  a  root  of  selfishness  in  men's 
actions,  have  probed  motives,  extracted  aims,  and 
placed  man  before  himself  denuded  and  exposed ;  they 
judged  him,  and  in  the  frigid  sententiousness  or  the 
wild  force  of  their  utterances,  we  hear  that  of  which 
we  cannot  but  say — how  true !  But  knowledge  is  a 
goad  to  those  who  have  it ;  a  disturbing  power ;  a 
keenness  which  distorts ;  and  in  the  light  it  gives  it 
partly  blinds  also.  The  fault  of  these  minds  was  that 
in  exposing  evil  they  did  not  really  believe  in  good- 
ness ;  goodness  was  to  them  but  an  airy  ideal, — the  dis- 
pirited echo  of  perplexed  hearts, — returned  to  them  from 
the  rocks  of  the  desert,  without  bearing  hope  with  it. 
They  had  no  genuine  belief  in  any  world  which  was 
different  from  theirs ;  they  availed  themselves  of  an 
ideal  indeed  to  judge  this  world,  and  they  could  not 
have  judged  it  without ;  for  anything,  whatever  it  is, 
is  good,  if  we  have  no  idea  of  an}i:hing  better ;  and 
therefore  the  conception  of  a  good  world  was  necessary 
to  judge  the  bad  one.  But  the  ideal  held  loose  to  their 
minds — not  as  anything  to  be  substantiated,  not  as  a 
type  in  which  a  real  world  was  to  be  cast,  not  as  any- 
thing of  structural  power,  able  to  gather  into  it,  form 


The  Reversal  of  Htiina7i  Judgment.  109 

round  it,  and  build  up  upon  itself;  not,  in  short,  as 
anything  of  power  at  all,  able  to  make  anything,  or 
do  anything,  but  only  like  some  fragrant  scent  in  the 
air,  which  comes  and  goes,  loses  itself,  returns  again 
in  faint  breaths,  and  rises  and  falls  in  imperceptive 
waves.  Such  was  goodness  to  these  minds ;  it  was  a 
ji  dream.  But  the  Gospel  distrust  is  not  disbelief  in 
goodness.  It  raises  a  great  suspense  indeed,  it  shows 
a  curtain  not  yet  drawn  up,  it  checks  weak  enthusiasm, 
it  appends  a  warning  note  to  the  pomp  and  flattery  of 
human  judgments,  to  the  erection  of  idols  ;  and  points 
to  a  day  of  great  reversal ;  a  day  of  the  Lord  of  Hosts ; 
the  day  of  pulling  down  and  plucking  up,  of  plant- 
ing and  building.  But,  together  with  the  law  of  sin, 
the  root  of  evil  in  the  world,  and  the  false  goodness  in 
it,  it  announces  a  fount  of  true  natures ;  it  tells  us  of 
a  breath  of  Heaven  of  which  we  know  not  whence  it 
cometh  and  whither  it  goeth;  which  inspires  single 
individual  hearts,  that  spring  up  here  and  there,  and 
everywhere,  like  broken  gleams  of  the  Supreme  Good- 
ness. And  it  recognises  in  the  renewed  heart  of  man 
an  instinct  which  can  discern  true  goodness  and  dis- 
tinguish it  from  false ;  a  secret  discrimination  in  the 
good  by  which  they  know  the  good.  It  does  not  there- 
fore stand  in  the  way  of  that  natural  and  quiet  reliance 
which  we  are  designed  by  God  to  have  in  one  another, 
and  that  trust  in  those  whose  hearts  we  know.  "  Wis- 
dom is  justified  of  her  children  "  My  sheep  hear  My 
voice,  but  a  stranger  will  they  not  follow,  for  they  know 
not  the  voice  of  strangers." 


WAR. 


Matthew  xxiv.  7. 
"  Nation  shall  rise  against  nation,  and  kingdom  against  kingdom." 

n^HE  relations  of  Christianity  to  war  are  certainly 
at  first  sight  an  extraordinary  enigma.  For 
what  do  we  see  ?  those  who  are  spiritually  one  with 
another,  and  brethren  in  Christ,  killing  each  other 
deliberately,  on  an  immense  scale,  by  weapons  and 
engines  which  have  been  long  and  systematically  im- 
proved with  a  view  to  the  highest  success  in  destruc- 
tion ;  the  contrivance  of  which  indeed  has  strained  to 
the  very  utmost  the  invention  and  ingenuity  of  Chris- 
tians. Nor  is  this  mutual  slaughter,  by  the  law  of  the 
Church,  the  slightest  break  in  Christian  union  and 
fellowship ;  the  Communion  of  the  Church  absolutely 
unites  one  side  spiritually  with  the  other.  When 
then,  having  first  looked  upon  Christians  fighting  one 
another  with  the  eye  of  custom,  taking  it  as  a  matter 
of  course,  wanting  no  explanation,  we  have  suddenly 
become  alive  to  the  strano^eness  and  startlingness 
of  the  fact ;  we  then  turn  right  round  and  forth- 
with suppose  that  there  must  be  some  very  extra- 
ordinary explanation.  But  there  is  no  other  than  an 
ordinary  explanation  to  give. 


War. 


1 1 1 


The  Christian  recognition  of  the  right  of  war 
was  contained  in  Christianity's  original  recognition  of 
nations,  as  constituting  at  the  same  time  the  division 
and  the  structure  of  the  human  world.  Gathering  up 
the  whole  world  into  one  communion  spiritually,  the 
new  universal  society  yet  announced  its  coalescence 
with  mankind's  divisions  politically ;  it  was  one  body 
of  one  kind,  in  many  bodies  of  another  kind.  It  did 
not  interfere  with  the  established  fabric  of  human 
society;  its  ancient  inclosures,  those  formations  of 
nature  or  events  which  collected  mankind  into  sepa- 
rate masses,  those  great  civil  corporations  into  which 
mankind  was  distributed ;  in  a  word  with  nations ; 
it  gathered  up  into  itself  not  only  the  unions  but  the 
chasms  of  the  human  race,  all  that  separated  as  well 
as  all  that  united ;  all  that  divided,  and  by  dividing 
created  variety  and  individuality  in  our  human  world. 
The  nation  was  one  of  those  wholes  to  which  the  in- 
dividual man  belonged,  and  of  which  he  was  a  part 
and  member  ;  it  existed  prior  to  Christianity,  and  was 
admitted  into  it  with  other  natural  elements  in  us ; 
Christians  were  from  the  outset  members  of  States  ; 
and  the  Church  could  no  more  ignore  the  State  than 
it  could  the  family.  And  as  one  of  those  wholes  to 
which  the  individual  belonged,  a  sentiment  and  affec- 
tion attached  to  it ;  Christianity  admitted  this  senti- 
ment ;  it  gave  room  for  national  feeling,  for  patriotism, 
for  that  common  bond  which  a  common  history  creates, 
for  loyalty,  for  pride  in  the  grandeur  of  the  nation's 
traditions,  for  joy  in  its  success. 

There  is  indeed  a  jealousy  in  some  schools  of 


I  I  2 


War. 


thought  of  this  national  sentiment,  as  belonging  to 
members  of  the  Church  Catholic,  as  if  it  were  a  senti- 
ment of  nature  which  grace  had  obliterated ;  as  if  a 
universal  spiritual  society  had  left  far  behind  such 
lower  rudiments  of  humanity,  and  it  were  a  mark  of  a 
relapse  into  heathenism  to  express  any  particular  in- 
terest in  your  own  country.  The  universal  society 
claims  the  whole  individual  affection  of  the  man ;  the 
Catholic  has  ceased  to  be  patriotic,  and  become  a 
citizen  of  the  Church  only.  This  is  the  idea;  but 
just  as  there  are  no  two  more  different  landscapes  than 
the  same  under  altered  skies ;  no  two  ideas  are  wider 
apart  than  the  same  under  different  circumstances  for 
realising  them.  In  Heaven,  all  is  one  spiritual  society 
only ;  but  here,  if  besides  the  Church  there  is  the 
nation,  the  effacement  of  the  national  sentiment  is  an 
artificial  and  violent  erasion  of  a  fact  of  nature.  We 
see  all  the  difference  in  such  a  case  between  the  vision 
of  an  angel  and  a  fanatical  or  pedantic  theory.  It 
appears  to  belong  to  such  theories  to  impoverish  the 
minds  which  they  absorb.  Nature  punishes  with  dry- 
ness the  spirits  that  reject  her ;  even  their  spiritual 
citizenship  issues  forth  stamped  with  utter  insipidity, 
a  piece  of  the  most  technical,  barren,  and  jejune 
mechanism. 

The  question,  indeed,  whether  Christianity  admits 
of  the  national  sentiment  is  part  of  the  general  question 
whether  Christianity  adopts  nature.  To  one  class  of 
zealous  religious  minds  everything  connected  with 
nature  has  looked  suspicious ;  poetry,  art,  philosophy, 
have  not  only  had  the  taint  of  original  evil  which  they 


War. 


bear,  but  they  have  only  and  simply  appeared  sinful. 
And  to  this  view  of  them  it  has  been  replied  that 
Christianity  does  not  abolish,  but  purify  and  consecrate 
nature.  Nature  enriches,  nay,  makes  the  material 
which  religion  is  to  penetrate.  Christianity  is  not  a 
flame  which  burns  in  a  pure  vacuum  and  a  void.  The 
soul  has  natural  feelings  and  affections  for  it  to  feed 
upon  ;  as  the  rich  unguents  of  the  wood  feed  the  flame. 
So  with  respect  to  the  national  sentiment.  It  is  part 
of  the  great  inheritance  of  nature.  The  nation  is  one 
of  those  natural  wholes  to  which  man  belongs,  as  the 
family  is  another.  He  is  annexed  to  it ;  and  a  sentiment 
arises  out  of  that  annexion.  He  belongs  to  it  by  the 
same  great  law  of  association,  though  in  a  further 
stage  of  it,  upon  which  the  tie  of  the  family  depends. 

It  may  be  said  that  the  tie  of  country  is  not  incul- 
cated in  the  New  Testament,  which,  on  the  other  hand, 
everywhere  speaks  of  us  as  members  of  the  Church 
which  it  contemplates  extending  over  the  whole  world. 
But  if  it  does  not  expressly  form  an  article  of  teaching 
in  the  New  Testament,  we  still  cannot  argue  from  the 
omission  as  if  it  were  rejection,  and  gather  from  the 
absence  of  direct  injunction  to  it  that  it  is  obsolete 
under  the  Gospel.  It  must  be  observed  that  the  argu- 
ment of  Hooker,  by  which  he  met  the  Puritan  formula 
— -that  in  the  matter  of  Church  order  and  ceremonial 
whatever  was  not  enjoined  in  Scripture  was  wrong, — 
applies  to  the  ethics  of  Scripture  as  well.  Hooker  said 
that  Scripture,  by  leaving  out,  did  not  condemn,  but 
only  sent  us  back  to  the  ground  of  reason  and  natural 

law.    And  to  those  who  would  argue  that  Scripture 

I 


114 


War. 


prohibited  some  afifection,  or  seutiment,  or  bond,  be- 
cause it  omitted  the  injunction  of  it,  the  answer  is  the 
same.  The  New  Testament,  e.  (/.,  says  very  little  about 
duties  to  equals,  and  enlarges  upon  duties  to  inferiors, 
upon  charity,  condescension,  and  compassion  to  the 
poor,  the  sick,  and  the  afflicted.  But  we  may  not  sup- 
pose from  this  that  duties  to  equals  are  not  very  im- 
portant duties,  not  even  that  they  are  not  the  more 
trying  class  of  duties,  and  the  most  pregnant  with  dis- 
cipline, and  that  the  society  of  equals  is  not  a  more 
searching  ordeal  to  the  character  than  intercourse  with 
the  poor,  who  do  not  try  our  pride  or  challenge  our 
jealousy.  Nor  may  we  suppose  that  if  Scripture  omits 
special  injunctions  to  patriotism,  it  therefore  cancels  or 
prohibits  it.  It  only  sends  us  back  to  the  law  of  nature 
and  reason  on  this  head. 

The  Christian  Church  then  recognised  and  adopted 
nations,  with  their  inherent  rights ;  took  them  into  her 
inclosure.  But  war  is  one  of  these  rights,  because 
under  the  division  of  mankind  into  distinct  nations  it 
becomes  a  necessity.  Each  of  these  is  a  centre  to 
itseK,  without  any  amenableness  to  a  common  centre. 
Questions  of  right  and  justice  must  arise  between  these 
independent  centres ;  these  cannot  be  decided  except  by 
mutual  agreement  or  force,  and  when  one  fails  the 
other  only  remains  —  not  that  it  necessarily  settles 
questions  rightly  indeed,  because  it  is  force  and  not 
right  which  decides ;  but  the  right  side  makes  the  trial. 
In  the  act,  then,  of  recognising  and  including  within 
herself,  nations,  collecting  within  one  spiritual  area  so 
many  different  independent  political  sources,  the  Chris- 


War. 


115 


tian  Church  necessarily  admitted  also  war  within  her 
pale.  Together  with  the  nations  there  comes  also 
within  the  Chm'ch  the  process  of  national  settlement 
of  questions  —  that  which  in  nations  corresponds  to 
judicial  proceedings  between  individuals — ^.e.,  war.  For, 
if  Christians  only  use,  in  resorting  to  it,  a  natural  right, 
the  use  of  this  right  does  not  exclude  them  from  the 
Church ;  which  is  to  say,  that  Christians  fight  each 
other  in  full  spiritual  communion.  Such  an  issue  the 
primitive  Christian  perhaps  hardly  foresaw  ;  and  could 
the  veil  of  time  have  been  lifted,  and  a  European  field 
of  battle  been  shown  him,  he  could  hardly  have  be- 
lieved the  picture  ;  but  it  is  still  the  result  of  a  natural 
right  which  Christianity  had  begun  with  admitting. 

Christianity  does  not  admit,  indeed,  but  utterly 
denounces  and  condemns  the  motives  which  lead  to 
war, — selfish  ambition,  rapacity,  tyranny,  and  vanity ; 
but  the  condemnation  of  one  side  is  the  justification  of 
the  other ;  these  very  motives  give  the  right  of  resist- 
ance to  one  side.  And,  inasmuch  as  the  Church  has 
no  authority  to  decide  which  is  the  right  side, — is  no 
judge  of  national  questions  or  of  national  motives,  not 
having  been  made  by  her  Divine  Founder  a  "  judge  or 
a  divider"  in  this  sphere,  the  Church  cannot,  in  her 
ignorance,  exclude  the  other  side  either.  The  Church 
therefore  stands  neutral,  and  takes  in  both  sides  ;  that 
is  to  say,  both  sides  fight  within  the  bond  of  Christian 
unity.  She  only  contemplates  war  forensically,  as  a 
mode  of  settling  national  questions,  which  is  justified  by 
the  want  of  any  other  mode. 

This  independence  of  nations  is  not  of  course  the 


ii6 


War. 


ultimate  account  of  war,  which  is  human  passion  and 
misapprehension,  but  only  an  account  of  it  as  differ- 
ing from  the  peaceable  settlement  of  disputes  between 
individuals. 

It  must  be  observed  that  individuals  are  enabled 
to  settle  their  disputes  peaceably  by  the  fact  of  being 
under  a  government.  It  is  not  that  individuals  are 
less  pugnacious  than  nations,  but  they  are  differently 
circumstanced.  Being  under  a  government,  they  are 
obliged,  if  they  do  not  voluntarily  come  to  terms,  to 
accept  the  arbitration  of  a  court.  Nobody  supposes 
that  the  suitors  for  justice  in  our  courts  agree  with 
the  judge  when  he  decides  against  them.  They  think 
him  in  error,  but  they  submit  because  they  are  obliged. 
Every  judgment  of  a  court  is  backed  by  the  whole 
force  of  the  nation,  as  against  the  force  of  the  indivi- 
dual who  dissents.  Indi\aduals  then  are  able  to  settle 
their  disputes  peaceably,  because  they  are  governed  by 
the  nation ;  but  nations  themselves  are  not  governed 
by  a  power  above  them.  This  then  is  the  original 
disadvantage  under  which  nations  are  placed  as  regards 
the  settlement  of  disputes ;  and  in  consequence  of 
which,  force  takes  the  place  of  justice  in  that  settle- 
ment. We  are  struck  at  the  very  first  with  the  enor- 
mous, the  almost  incredible  contrast  between  the  mode 
in  which  individual  disputes  are  decided,  and  that  in 
which  national  disputes  are ;  they  appear  hardly  to 
belong  to  the  same  age,  or  to  the  same  world ;  it  is  to 
appearance  all  the  difference  between  civilisation  and 
barbarism.  And  yet  the  whole  difference  springs  from 
one  distinction  in  the  situation  of  the  two, — that  there 


War. 


117 


is  a  government  of  individuals  provided  in  tlie  world, 
but  not  a  orovernment  of  nations.  The  aim  of  the 
nation  in  going  to  war  is  exactly  the  same  as  that  of 
the  individual  in  entering  a  court ;  it  wants  its  rights, 
or  what  it  alleges  to  be  its  rights ;  but  it  is  not  in  the 
situation  in  which  the  individual  is  of  being  compelled 
by  force  to  accept  the  decision  of  a  judge  upon  them. 
For  indeed  a  court  of  justice  possesses,  only  in  reserve, 
exactly  the  same  identical  force  as  that  which  exerts 
and  demonstrates  itself  in  war.  It  is  one  and  the 
same  force  in  principle  ;  only  in  the  court  it  is  con- 
fessedly superior  to  all  opposition,  and  therefore  has 
not  to  make  any  demonstration  of  itself,  i.e.,  it  acts 
peaceably.  In  war  it  has  to  make  a  demonstration, 
to  come  out,  i.e.  its  action  is  warlike.    It  acts  as  a 

I  contending  force ;  because  it  is  only  as  a  superior 
force  that  it  is  effective  ;  and  its  superiority  can  only 
be  proved  by  contention.    It  exists  in  its  compressed 

I  form  in  the  court,  like  the  genius  shut  up  in  the  chest 
in  the  eastern  legend ;  in  war  it  rises  to  a  colossal 
height,  like  the  same  genius  when  let  out.  In  civil 
government  the  force  of  final  resort  is  a  stationary 
force  at  the  nation's  centre ;  in  war  it  is  a  moving  and 
nomad  force,  going  about  the  world,  and  showing  it- 
self by  the  proof  of  the  event  in  battle,  in  whatever 
place  the  occasion  may  arise ;  but  it  is  the  same  force 
in  diflferent  circumstances. 

It  may  be  observed  that  such  an  account  of  war, 
as  arising  from  the  want  of  a  government  over  the 
contending  parties,  applies  in  reality  to  civil  wars 

^    as  well  as  to  national ;  only  in  the  former  case  the 


ii8 


War. 


lieadship  over  the  contending  parties  has  given  way 
for  a  time ;  in  the  latter  it  never  existed. 

So  far  we  have  been  dealing  with  wars  of  self- 
defence  ;  but  self-defence  by  no  means  exhausts  the 
whole  rationale  of  war.  Self-defence  stands  in  moral 
treatises  as  the  formal  hypothesis  to  which  all  justifica- 
tion of  war  is  reduced  ;  but  this  is  applying  a  consider- 
able strain  to  it.  When  we  go  further,  we  find  that 
there  is  a  spring  in  the  very  setting  and  framework  of 
the  world,  whence  movements  are  ever  pushing  up  to 
the  surface — movements  for  recasting  more  or  less  the 
national  distribution  of  the  world ;  for  establishing 
fresh  centres  and  forming  States  into  new  groups  and 
combinations.  Much  of  this  is  doubtless  owing  to  the 
mere  spirit  of  selfish  conquest ;  for  conquest  as  such  is 
change  and  reconstruction ;  but  conquest  does  not 
account  for  the  whole  of  it.  There  is  doubtless  an  in- 
stinctive reaching  in  nations  and  masses  of  people  after 
alteration  and  readjustment,  which  has  justice  in  it, 
and  which  rises  from  real  needs.  The  arrangement 
does  not  suit  as  it  stands  ;  there  is  want  of  adaptation ; 
there  is  confinement  and  pressure ; — ^people  kept  away 
from  each  other  that  are  made  to  be  together ;  and 
parts  separated  that  were  made  to  join.  Thus  there 
is  uneasiness  in  States,  and  an  impulse  rises  up  toward 
some  new  coalition  ;  it  is  long  an  undergrowth  of  feel- 
ing, but  at  last  it  comes  to  the  top,  and  takes  steps 
for  putting  itself  in  force.  Strong  States  then,  it  is 
true,  are  ready  enough  to  assume  the  ofiice  of  recon- 
structors,  and  yet  we  must  admit  there  is  sometimes  a 
natural  justice  in  these  movements,  and  that  they  are 


War. 


119 


instances  of  a  real  self-correcting  process  which  is  part 
of  the  constitution  of  the  world,  and  which  is  coeval 
in  root  with  the  political  structure  which  it  remedies. 
They  are  an  opening  out  of  political  nature,  seeking 
relief  and  proper  scope  in  new  divisions ;  sometimes 
reactions  in  favour  of  older  union,  disturbed  by  later 
artificial  division.  In  either  case  it  is  the  framework 
of  society  forced  by  an  inward  impulse  upon  its  own 
improvement  and  rectification.  But  such  just  needs 
when  they  arise  must  produce  war ;  because  a  status 
quo  is  blind  to  new  necessities,  and  does  not  think 
such  an  alteration  to  be  for  the  better,  but  much  for 
the  worse.  Then  there  are  wars  of  progress ;  they  do 
not  belong  to  the  strict  head  of  wars  of  self-defence ; 
but  so  far  as  they  are  really  necessary  for  the  due  ad- 
vantage of  mankind  and  growth  of  society,  they  have 
a  justification  in  that  reason.  And  as  Christianity  at 
its  commencement  took  up  the  national  divisions  of 
mankind,  with  war  as  a  consequence  contained  in 
them,  so  it  assumes  this  root  of  change  and  recon- 
struction with  the  same  consequence — this  funda- 
mental tendency  to  re-settlement,  this  inherent  correc- 
tive process  in  political  nature. 

It  is  this  judicial  character  of  war,  and  its  lawful 
place  in  the  world,  as  a  mode  of  obtaining  justice  ;  it 
is  the  sacred  and  serious  object,  which  so  far  attaches 
to  war,  which  gives  war  its  morality ;  and  enables  it 
to  produce  its  solemnising  type  of  character.  For  we 
should  keep  clear  and  distinguished  in  our  minds  the 
moral  eff'ects  of  war,  and  the  physical.  These  are 
apt  to  be  confounded  under  such  expressions  as  the 


1 20 


War. 


horrors  of  war.  But  the  horrors  of  war  are  partly 
bodily  torment  and  suflfering,  which  are  dreadful  in- 
deed, but  dreadful  as  misery,  not  as  sin.  War  is  hate- 
ful as  a  physical  scourge,  like  a  pestilence  or  a  famine ; 
and  again,  it  is  hateful  on  account  of  the  passions  of 
those  who  originate  it,  and  on  account  of  the  excesses 
in  those  who  serve  in  it.  But  if  we  take  the  bad 
effects  on  those  who  serve  in  it  by  themselves — it  is 
not  impossible  to  exaggerate  them,  at  least  by  com- 
parison :  for  while  war  has  its  criminal  side,  peace  is 
not  innocent ;  and  who  can  say  that  more  sin  is  not 
committed  every  day  in  every  capital  of  Europe  than 
on  the  largest  field  of  battle.  We  may  observe  in  the 
New  Testament  an  absence  of  all  disparagement  of  the 
military  life.  It  is  treated  as  one  of  those  callings 
which  are  necessary  in  the  world,  which  supplies  its 
own  set  of  temptations,  and  its  own  form  of  discipline. 

There  is  one  side  indeed  of  the  moral  character  of 
war  in  special  harmony  wdth  the  Christian  type — I 
refer  to  the  spirit  of  sacrifice  which  is  inherent  in  the 
very  idea  of  the  individual  encountering  death  for  the 
sake  of  the  body  to  which  he  belongs.  There  is  a 
mediatorial  function  which  pervades  the  whole  dis- 
pensation of  God's  natural  providence,  by  which  men 
have  to  sufier  for  each  other,  and  one  member  of  the 
human  body  has  to  bear  the  burden  and  participate 
in  the  grief  of  another.  And  it  is  this  serious  and 
sacred  function  which  consecrates  war.  Without  it, 
indeed,  what  would  war  be  but  carnage ;  with  it,  war 
displays  in  spite  of  its  terrible  features,  a  solemn 
morality.    The  devotion  of  the  individual  to  the  com- 


War. 


121 


munity  stands  before  us  in  a  form  which,  while  it 
overwhehns  and  appals,  strikes  us  with  admiration. 
That  the  nation  may  rise  the  individual  sinks  into  the 
abyss ;  he  vanishes  as  a  drop  that  waters  the  earth, 
yet  he  does  not  murmur ;  it  is  his  function,  it  is  his 
appointment,  it  is  an  end  to  which  he  is  ordained; 
the  member  is  bound  to  the  body,  the  unit  exists  for 
the  good  of  the  whole.  In  a  battle  itself,  a  mass 
moves,  advances,  wins,  and  occupies  without  one  look 
to  its  gaps ;  a  remorseless  identity  carries  it  through 
it  all;  the  whole  is  the  same,  while  the  parts  dis- 
appear at  every  step ;  and  the  great  unit  moves  on 
without  a  pause  to  its  goal.  So  it  is  with  the  nation 
itself ;  before  it  is  the  glorified  whole,  and  behind  it 
are  the  strewn  and  scattered  fragments  everywhere 
upon  the  ground.  The  nation  pursues  its  road  to 
greatness,  and  to  the  individuals  it  only  belongs  to  say, 
Ave  Caesar,  morituri  te  salutant.  Thus  is  history 
formed,  thus  do  great  States  rise,  and  thus  is  national 
sentiment  cemented.  The  whole  wins  at  the  cost  of 
the  members  :  and  the  life  which  is  gone,  and  whose 
place  knoweth  it  no  more ;  that  which  is  effaced  and 
expunged  from  the  tablet, — the  vanishing,  the  perishing 
and  lost,  is  the  solid  rock  on  which  a  nation  is  founded. 
Certainly  one  asks — what  and  who  is  this  mighty  en- 
chantress, that  can  so  chain  the  spirits  of  mankind,  so 
fascinate,  so  transport  them ;  that  can  claim  such 
service,  and  impose  such  martyrdom  ?  Is  it  anything 
tangible,  visible  ?  Can  you  see  the  nation,  can  you 
feel  it  ?  You  cannot.  It  is  all  around  you,  but  im- 
palpable as  the  air ;  you  cannot  take  hold  of  it ;  the 


122 


War. 


indmduals  are  there,  but  the  whole  eludes  your  grasp. 
The  nation  is  nowhere, — an  abstraction.  It  exists  only 
in  idea :  but  ideas  are  the  strongest  things  in  man  ; 
they  bind  him  with  irresistible  force,  and  penetrate 
his  aflfections  with  supreme  subtlety. 

War  is  thus  elevated  by  sacrifice ;  by  the  mixed 
effect  of  glory  and  grief.  There  is  in  it  that  action 
just  before  death  which  so  interests  the  human  mind. 
All  that  a  man  does  upon  this  extreme  boundary  of 
vision  appeals  to  us ;  what  he  said,  or  did,  how  he 
looked,  his  expressions  and  signs  upon  the  verge  of 
that  moment  awaken  our  curiosity ;  it  seems  as  if  he 
were  in  another  world,  when  he  was  so  near  one.  So 
in  war  there  is  just  that  conflux  of  splendid  action 
upon  the  very  edge  of  life,  which  rouses  curiosity  and 
emotion ;  the  figures  move  upon  the  extreme  line  of 
a  shifting  horizon,  in  another  instant  they  are  below 
it ;  yet  the  flame  of  energy  mounts  the  highest  upon 
the  moment  of  the  eclipse.  There  is  a  miraculous 
outbreak  of  power  and  will,  which  gathers  all  into  a 
point ;  then  all  is  over,  and  the  man  is  gone.  The 
old  Saxon  poet,  though  he  deals  with  war  of  the 
rudest  kind,  though  it  is  the  storming  of  a  mound,  or 
battle  of  boats  up  some  creek,  is  carried  beyond  him- 
self in  contemplating  the  superhuman  energies  with 
which  life  goes  out ;  the  action  in  which  man  vanishes 
from  earth ;  and  unable  to  express  his  emotion  in 
words,  fills  up  his  blank  intervals  with  inarticulate 
sounds,  to  serve  as  the  signs  of  what  is  unutterable. 
It  is  true  there  is  inspiration  in  numbers,  in  men  acting 
at  once  and  together ;  it  is  a  marvellous  prop  to 


War. 


123 


human  nature.    "  The  fear  of  death,"  says  Montaigne, 
"  is  got  rid  of  by  dying  in  company ;  they  are  no 
longer  astonished  at  it ;   they  lament  no  longer." 
There  is  a  strain  in  solitary  action  when  a  man  is 
thrown  upon  himself,  which  is  too  much  for  him,  fel- 
lowship in  danger  relieves  it.    And  there  is  excite- 
ment doubtless  in  a  crowd,  an  indefinite  mass  of 
human  beings ;  it  fills  the  mind ;   the  spectacle  is 
stirring  and  absorbing ;  and  a  crowd  has  this  singular 
effect  too,  that  so  far  from  lessening  the  individual  in 
his  own  eyes,  which  one  would  imagine  before  that  it 
must  do,  on  the  contrary  it  magnifies  him ;  he  ap- 
pends it  to  himself ;  he  does  not  belong  so  much  to  it 
as  it  to  him.    Still  though  it  is  assisted  nature  which 
acts  on  these  occasions,  it  is  nature  assisted  by  natural 
means.    Thus  have  the  scenes  of  war  figured  as  a  kind 
of  supernatural  borderland  of  action,  in  human  senti- 
ment ;  they  have  left  an  impress  upon  the  memorials 
of  the  city  and  the  field,  and  as  associations  and 
memories  their  place  would  be  missed  in  the  roll  of 
the  past ;  while  the  self  sacrifice  of  war  has  also  pro- 
duced a  class  of  virtues,  which  cannot  well  be  spared 
in  the  portrait  of  man. 

And  as  the  individual  fights  for  a  whole,  so  he 
fights  against  a  whole  too :  the  hostile  aim  passes 
through  the  individual,  as  a  mere  necessary  incident, 
to  rest  for  its  real  object  upon  the  impalpable  genera- 
lisation of  the  nation,  which  disperses  itself  in  the  air, 
and  defies  our  grasp.  As  respects  the  individuals  it 
is  simply  a  problem  of  force,  which  is  working  itself 
out,  by  means  indeed  of  those  individuals  on  each  side 


124 


War. 


as  exponents,  but  wholly  irrelevant  of  any  regard  to 
them  as  persons.  It  works  itself  out,  just  as  an  argu- 
ment does,  nor  is  there  more  hatred  in  force  than  there 
is  in  reasoning.  It  is  a  means  to  an  end — that  end 
being  the  estabUshment  of  a  right,  as  the  end  of  an 
argument  is  the  establishment  of  a  truth.  Thus,  take 
two  hostile  armies,  and  the  total  amount  of  anger  is 
in  almost  spectral  and  unearthly  contrast  with  the 
hideous  mass  of  injury.  It  is  like  a  tempest  without 
a  wind.  The  enmity  is  in  the  two  wholes — the  ab- 
stractions :  the  individuals  are  at  peace. 

But  there  is  a  sad  counterpart  of  the  self-sacrificing 
encounter  of  death  on  the  part  of  the  individual  for 
the  body, — the  mere  animal  defiance  of  death.  We 
know  that  man  can,  by  custom  and  constant  harden- 
ing, be  at  last  rendered  callous  to  the  fear  of  death  ; 
but  the  result  sometimes  is,  so  far  from  a  good  one  in 
man,  a  terrible  and  wild  outburst  of  evil  nature  in 
him.  So  long  as  he  was  under  the  fear  of  death  there 
was  something  to  restrain  him ;  there  was  something 
hanging  over  him ;  there  was  something  before  him 
which  he  dreaded ;  he  was  under  a  yoke  and  felt  it ; 
but  when  this  last  check  is  flung  ofi",  then  he  triumphs 
wildly  in  his  freedom,  and  tramples  upon  law.  This 
is  the  efi'ect  of  the  exultation  of  conquering  the  dread 
of  death  in  the  base  and  carnal  heart ;  it  lets  the 
whole  man  loose  ;  and  in  the  rule  of  corruptio  optimi 
pessima,  just  as  the  victory  over  the  terror  of  death,  in 
self-devotion  produces  the  highest  state  of  mind,  so 
the  mere  animal  conquest  of  it  produces  the  lowest. 

Is  war  to  be  regarded  then  as  an  accident  of  society, 


« 


War.  1 2  5 

which  may  some  day  be  got  rid  of,  or  as  something 
rooted  in  it  ?  Imagination  earnestly  stretches  forward 
to  an  epoch  when  war  will  cease  ;  and  first,  it  has  been 
said  that  the  progress  of  society  will  put  an  end  to 
war.  But,  in  the  first  place,  human  nature  consists  of 
such  varied  contents  that  it  is  very  difiicult  to  say 
that  any  one  principle,  such  as  what  we  call  progress, 
can  control  it.  Old  feeling  starts  up  again,  when  it 
was  thought  obsolete,  and  there  is  much  that  is  wild 
and  irregular  in  man,  however  we  may  think  we  have 
subjugated  and  tamed  him.  There  is  an  outburst 
when  we  least  expect  it.  "  Canst  thou  draw  out 
leviathan  with  a  hook  ?  will  he  make  a  covenant  with 
thee  ?  wilt  thou  take  him  for  a  servant  for  ever  1 " 
"I  have  never  seen,"  says  the  great  philosopher  I 
have  quoted,  speaking  of  himself  as  the  human  creature, 
and  with  that  roughness  which  is  peculiar  to  him, 
"I  have  never  seen,"  he  says,  "a  more  evident 
monster  or  miracle  in  the  world  than  myself :  a  man 
grows  familiar  with  all  strange  things  by  time  and 
custom ;  but  the  more  I  visit  and  the  better  I  know 
myself,  the  more  does  my  deformity  astonish  me,  and 
the  less  I  understand  of  myself."  Therefore  the  pre- 
tension of  any  one  principle  like  that  of  material  pro- 
gress to  control  entirely  this  being,  to  make  a  covenant 
with  him,  and  take  him  as  a  servant  for  ever,  is  on  the 
very  face  of  it  an  absurdity.  But  what  are  we  to  say 
when  progress  produces  war,  instead  of  stopping  it  ? 
It  is  true  that  progress  has  stopped  wars  arising  from 
that  petty  class  of  causes — court  and  family  intrigues, 
So  much  popular  power  has  done.    But  if  progress  stops 


126 


War. 


war  on  one  side,  it  makes  it  on  another,  and  war  is  its 
instrument.  Certainly  it  would  be  as  easy  to  justify 
the  crusades  on  the  principle  of  self-defence,  as  it 
would  be  to  justify  two  of  the  three  great  European 
wars  of  the  last  dozen  years  on  that  principle.  They 
were  wars  of  progress  ;  wars  of  a  natural  reconstruct- 
ing scope.  So  in  the  East  war  has  been  war  of  pro- 
gress ;  forcing  two  empires  that  have  shut  themselves 
up,  and  excluded  themselves  from  the  society  of  man- 
kind, out  of  their  artificial  imprisonment  and  insulation, 
and  obliging  them  to  come  out  into  the  world,  and 
take  at  any  rate  some  part  and  place  in  it. 

But  again,  and  principally — the  progress  of  society 
doubtless  increases  by  comparison  the  barbarous  aspect 
of  war  as  an  instrument ;  but  does  it  provide  any 
other  instrument  by  which  nations  can  gain  their 
rights  1  Any  other  process  of  obtaining  justice,  however 
rough  this  one  may  be,  and  however  chance  its  verdicts? 

The  natural  remedy  for  war  then  would  appear 
to  be  a  government  of  nations ;  but  this  would  be 
nothing  short  of  a  universal  empire,  and  can  this  be 
accomplished  by  any  progress  ?  It  is  indeed  a  physical 
improbability.  The  Church,  indeed,  in  the  Middle 
Ages  put  forth  pretensions, to  this  power ;  the  Roman 
Empire  was  in  its  day  an  approach  to  it ;  and  so  are 
all  large  conquests  in  their  degree,  keeping  the  nations 
under  them  distinct,  but  only  partially  self-governing, 
and  depending  on  a  centre.  Nor  is  the  dream  of  a 
universal  government  or  empire  confined  entirely  to 
such  shapes,  or  to  such  sources.  Great  popular  causes, 
powerful  tides  of  opinion,  as  they  spread  and  advance 


War. 


127 


over  the  world,  tend  to  level  the  barriers  of  nations, 
to  reduce  patriotic  sentiment,  and  to  throw  open  the 
whole  of  human  society  into  one  vast  area,  in  which 
the  interests  of  collective  humanity  alone  reign.  The 
first  French  revolution  was  such  a  movement ;  it  bound 
together  the  disciples  of  revolutionary  philosophy  all 
over  the  world,  and  tended  to  erect  one  immense 
brotherhood,  whose  common  ground  was  stronger  and 
more  connecting  than  their  difiereucing  one  ;  the  union 
of  ideas  more  forcible  than  the  separation  of  country. 
At  the  present  time  that  vast  common  fellowship,  co- 
extensive with  the  world — the  great  uniting  bond  of 
labour,  man's  universal  yoke,  has  produced  a  move  in 
a  like  direction ;  and  even  in  Spain,  which  so  long 
idolised  its  own  blood,  the  International  Operative 
Society  proclaimed,  upon  the  late  question  of  the 
election  to  the  throne,  a  total  freedom  from  prejudice, 
and  entire  indifference  to  the  distinction  of  nations, 
I  and  whether  their  king  was  to  be  Spanish  or  a 
foreigner.  But  whatever  approach  may  occasionally 
take  place  toward  a  relaxation  of  the  national  tie,  the 
alternative  is  still  an  inexorable  one  between  inde- 
pendent nations  and  a  universal  empire ;  and  as  a 
universal  empire  is  impossible,  the  division  of  nations 
only  remains.  The  waves  of  universalism  can  only 
dash  themselves  in  vain  |^against  that  rock ;  they  can- 
not possibly  shake  the  seat  of  distributed  power  and 
government;  and  by  a  fortunate  necessity  nations  must 
ever  form  the  barriers  and  breakwaters  in  that  bound- 
less ocean  of  humanity,  which  would  otherwise  drive 
with  irresistible  and  wild  force  in  the  direction  of 


128 


War. 


jDarticular  great  movements  and  ideas ;  they  are  the 
groins  which  divide  the  beach,  whose  whole  immeasur- 
able expanse  of  sands  would  otherwise  crowd  up  into 
overwhelming  piles  and  masses. 

We  thus  fall  back  again  upon  independent  States, 
which  must  decide  their  own  rights,  otherwise  they 
are  not  full  and  integral  States ;  they  have  not  that 
autonomy,  that  freedom  from  all  subordinateness  to  an 
authority  above  them,  that  self-sufficiency,  which  the 
peremptory  logic  of  our  well  known  statutes  claims  for 
them  in  the  statement  that  "  by  divers  old  authentic 
histories  and  chronicles,  it  is  manifestly  declared  and 
expressed  that  this  kingdom  of  England  is  an  empire, 
and  so  hath  been  accepted  by  the  world,  with  plenary, 
whole,  and  entire  power,  authority,  prerogative  and 
jurisdiction,  and  j&nal  determination  in  all  causes." 
But  such  states  meet  equal  rights  in  other  states,  for 
the  conflict  of  which  no  solution  is  provided  but  war. 

The  idea  has  risen  up  indeed  at  various  times  of  a 
modification  of  the  autonomy  of  States  by  the  erection 
of  a  court  of  arbitration,  which  would  be  a  universal 
government  upon  this  particular  point ;  but  though  no 
well  guided  State  would  disturb  the  world  for  second- 
ary points,  or  refuse  a  neutral's  judgment  upon  them, 
it  is  difficult  to  see  how,  upon  a  question  vitally  touch- 
ing its  own  basis  and  safety,  it  could  go  upon  any 
other  sense  of  justice  than  its  own.  Take  an  individual, 
what  a  natural  keen  sense  he  has  of  the  justice  of  his 
own  case.  How  he  is  penetrated  through  and  through 
with  its  grounds  and  reasons,  into  the  full  acquaintance 
with  which  he  has  grown  gradually  and  naturally, 


War. 


having  had  time  to  see  the  facts  in  all  their  relations: 
An  individual  then  certainly  does  accept  the  judgment 
of  a  neutral  on  his  cause  in  the  person  of  a  judge,  and 
surrender  his  own  sense  of  the  justice  of  his  case  ;  but 
he  is  compelled  to  do  so.  A  nation  is  not  compelled 
to  do  this ;  if  it  doubts  then  whether  an  indifferent 
spectator  who  would  have  to  apply  a  hard,  forced 
attention  to  its  cause  would  do  adequate  justice  to 
its  rights,  it  is  asking  a  great  deal  that  it  should  give 
up  its  own  judgment  of  its  own  rights  to  the  judgment 
of  that  other.  A  nation  knows  it  does  justice  to  its 
own  case ;  it  cannot  be  sure  that  another  will  do  so. 
It  is  not  partiality  to  self  alone  upon  which  the  idea 
is  founded  that  you  see  your  own  cause  best.  There 
is  an  element  of  reason  in  this  idea ;  your  judgment 
even  appeals  to  you,  that  you  must  grasp  most  com- 
pletely yourself  what  is  so  near  to  you,  what  so  inti- 
mately relates  to  you  ;  what,  by  your  situation,  you 
have  had  such  a  power  of  searching  into.  The  case 
is  indeed  something  analogous  to  an  individual  sur- 
rendering his  own  moral  judgment  to  another.  He 
may  do  so  if  he  is  not  certain ;  but  if  he  feels  certain 
it  is  almost  a  contradiction  to  do  so. 

It  may  be  said,  why  may  not  a  nation  give  up  its 
rights  on  a  principle  of  humility  and  generosity  as  the 
individual  does  ?  But  to  impose  such  humility  as  this 
on  a  nation  would  be  to  impose  on  it  something  quite 
different  in  ethical  constitution  from  the  same  humility 
in  an  individual.  An  individual's  abandonment  of  his 
rights  is  what  the  very  words  grammatically  mean — 
the  individual  sacrificing  himself ;  but  a  nation's  aban- 

E 


I30 


War. 


donment  of  its  rights  means  the  individual  sacrificing 
the  nation ;  for  the  nation  only  acts  through  indivi- 
duals. The  individual  is  humble  not  for  himself  but 
for  another,  which  is  a  very  difi"erent  thing. 

It  is  thus  that  every  prospect  which  the  progress 
of  society  appears  to  open  of  eradicating  war  from  the 
system  of  the  world,  closes  as  soon  as  we  examine  it. 
It  may  indeed  be  admitted  that  even  under  all  the 
existing  defects  of  the  world's  system,  a  great  diminu- 
tion of  war  might  arise  from  an  improvement  in  one 
particular  in  the  public  mind  of  nations ;  their  judg- 
ment in  estimating  the  strength  of  rival  national  causes 
and  movements.  In  an  age,  e.g.,  when  the  clouds  of 
war  gather  round  the  cause  of  national  concentration, 
the  interested  neighbour-state  that  is  conscious  its  own 
relative  greatness  is  challenged  by  it,  should  be  able  to 
calculate  the  strength  of  that  cause  and  its  suscepti- 
bility of  resistance.  We  in  this  country,  e.g.,  have 
long  had  this  measuring  faculty  with  respect  to  the 
strength  of  our  own  internal  public  movements  and 
causes  ;  an  acute  sense  of  their  growth,  and  when  they 
reach  a  point  at  which  they  cannot  be  resisted ;  and 
thus  civil  war  has  been  forestalled  by  opportune  con- 
cession. Did  such  a  subtle  perception  exist  in  nations 
with  respect  to  the  strength  of  these  national  causes 
outside  of  them,  nations  too  could  reasonably  judge 
when  these  reached  an  irresistible  strength;  and  so 
war  would  be  forestalled  between  nations. 

It  is  the  lack  of  such  a  perception  as  this  to  which 
we  may  trace  the  cause  of  the  recent  terrible  war  close 
to  our  shores.    In  that  case,  on  the  one  side  there 


War. 


were  the  fragments  of  a,  mighty  nation  determined  to 
reunite ;  and  on  the  other  side  there  was  a  splendid 
nation,  accustomed  to  supremacy,  resolved  to  prevent 
a  combination  which  would  challenge  that  proud  posi- 
tion. But  to  stop  that  reunion  was  an  impossibility  ; 
that  reunion  was  rooted  in  the  action  of  a  century,  in 
a  whole  age  of  gradual  drawing  close ;  it  was  too 
deeply  fixed  in  the  will  of  the  people,  had  too  strong 
a  hold  over  their  hearts ;  it  had  turned  the  point  of 
resistance.  Yet  this  was  what  the  other  nation  did 
not  see  ;  one  man  alone  saw  it,  and  he  was  its  Ruler. 
It  came  out  afterwards,  indeed,  that  even  he  had  not 
the  knowledge  of  particulars,  but  he  had  that  intuitive 
judgment  and  fine  balancing  faculty  which  sometimes 
acts  in  its  place.  He  stood  upon  the  shore,  and  to  his 
importuning  subjects,  who  bid  him  order  back  the  wave, 
replied  that  he  could  not.  But  his  will  was  not  equal 
to  his  penetration,  he  did  what,  a  thousand  times  before 
him,  the  acute,  the  discriminating,  and  the  philosophic 
have  done,  gave  way  to  the  impetuous  and  blind ;  and 
he  had  soon  to  retire  from  the  uproar  and  conflict  of 
empire,  to  meditate  in  solitude  and  isolation  on  the  use 
of  being  wise. 

But  though  nations  may  advance  in  judgment, 
what  sign  is  there  that  the  progress  of  society  ever  can 
alter  the  existing  plan  of  the  world,  or  rather  want  of 
plan,  from  which  war  comes — viz. ,  a  want  of  all  head 
to  the  nations  and  states  of  the  world, — that  progress 
can  give  natural  society  a  vertex  which  nature  has  not 
given  ? 

Are  we  then,  progress  failing  us,  to  look  for  a  ces- 


132 


War, 


sation  of  war  from  tlie  side  of  Christianity  ?  The  ques- 
tion has  often  indeed  been  asked  tauntingly,  and  it  is 
a  favourite  fact  which  is  called  in  evidence  against 
revelation — why  has  not  Christianity  done  away  with 
war?  But  if  an  alteration  in  the  system  of  the 
world  would  be  necessar}^  in  order  to  stop  war ;  if 
there  is  an  irregularity  in  the  structure  of  natural 
society,  a  void  and  hiatus  in  the  fabric  as  it  is — that 
is  no  deficiency  which  Christianity  is  required  to  cor- 
rect. It  is  no  part  of  the  mission  of  Christianity  to 
reconstruct  the  order  of  the  world  ;  that  is  not  its  task, 
or  its  function.  It  assumes  the  world's  system  and  its 
want  of  system ;  its  system  as  regards  individuals,  its 
unsystematic  condition  as  regards  nations ;  it  does  not 
profess  to  provide  another  world  for  us  to  Live  in.  Yet 
this  is  the  work  which  those  in  reality  impose  upon  it 
who  ask  triumphantly,  why  has  not  Christianity  stopped 
war  ?  Progress  has  not  done  it,  within  whose  sphere 
it  rather  is.  Without  indeed  any  correction  of  the 
structure  of  the  world,  a  universal  change  in  the  tem- 
per of  mankind  would  stop  war.  But  Christianity  is 
not  remedial  to  the  whole  of  human  nature,  but  only 
to  those  hearts  that  receive  it. 

It  might,  indeed,  as  weU  be  asked — why  has  not 
Christianity  done  away  with  Q.WA  government  as 
carried  on  by  force,  and  by  the  infliction  of  punishment, 
chains,  and  death  ?  Yet  we  do  not  blame  it  for  not 
having  substituted  love  for  compulsion  here  ;  and  why 
should  we  blame  it  for  not  having  done  so  in  the  case 
of  nations.  War  and  ci^nl  force  are  branches  of  one 
common  stock,  however  -wide  apart  in  their  mode  of 


War. 


133 


demonstration.  Civil  government  with  its  sword  is  a 
kind  of  war  with  man ;  war,  with  its  settlement  of 
questions,  is  a  kind  of  government  of  man.  Can  we 
indeed  historically  separate  civil  government  and  war, 
with  reference  to  the  ultimate  basis  of  the  force  which 
each  respectively  applies  ?  Civil  government  has 
practically  arisen  out  of  conquest,  which  collected  the 
scattered  fragments  of  human  society  together,  bound 
together  independent  tribes,  and  congregated  mankind 
in  a  sufl&cient  mass  to  admit  of  it.  And  yet,  though 
apparently  war  yields  neither  to  the  secular  principle 
nor  the  religious,  but  keeps  its  place  in  the  future  ob- 
stinately, some  go  on  thinking  of  this  world  as  advanc- 
ing to  some  indefinite  state  of  perfection. 

Prophecy  indeed  has  foretold  the  time  when  nations 
should  beat  theii-  swords  into  ploughshares,  and  their 
spears  into  pruning-hooks,  when  nation  shall  not  lift 
up  sword  against  nation,  neither  shall  they  learn  war 

1    any  more.    But  this  total  change  pictured  by  the  pro- 

■  phet  does  not  in  truth  apply  to  war  only ;  it  applies 
just  as  much  to  the  civil  government  of  the  world. 
He  foresees  a  reign  of  universal  love,  when  men  will 
no  longer  act  by  terror  and  compulsion ;  but  this  is 

j  just  as  much  against  the  chains  and  death  of  civil 
government  as  it  is  against  war.  Prophecy  has  two 
sides.  On  one  side  it  says,  a  great  renovation  is 
coming,  the  slough  of  inveterate  corruption  will  be 
cast  off,  peace  and  love  will  reign,  and  there  will  be 
no  more  war.  On  the  other  hand,  prophecy  says,  it 
will  always  be  the  same — things  will  go  on  as  they  do 

||  — the  world  will  not  change ;  man  will  not  cease  to 


134 


War. 


sin ;  iniquity  will  abound  up  to  the  very  end ;  and 
there  shall  be  wars ;  nation  shall  rise  against  nation, 
and  kingdom  against  kingdom.  Such  are  the  two 
voices.  Separately,  the  one  is  all  vision,  the  other  all 
matter  of  fact.  But  we  cannot  take  these  two  pro- 
phecies separately ;  we  must  take  them  together ;  they 
are  two  sides  of  a  whole.  Prophecy  speaks  as  a  whole, 
of  which  the  oppositions  are  interpretations.  A  king- 
dom of  peace  there  will  be ;  but  when  the  j)ro23het 
seems  to  associate  this  paradisal  era  with  earth,  then 
apparent  prophecy  is  corrected  by  a  later  supplement. 
As  we  approach  the  Gospel  time,  the  sublime  and 
supernatural  scene  remains,  but  its  locality  alters.  To 
the  Jewish  j)rophet  earth  was  heaven ;  they  mixed 
together  in  one  landscape ;  but  the  two  worlds  under 
the  Gospel  light  divided,  and  the  visible  was  ex- 
changed for  the  invisible,  as  the  place  of  the  prophetic 
realm  of  peace.  With  respect  to  this  world,  later  or 
Gospel  prophecy  is,  if  one  may  so  say,  singularly  un- 
enthusiastic ;  it  draws  no  sanguine  picture,  is  in  no 
ecstasy  about  humanity,  speaks  of  no  regeneration  of 
society  here ;  it  uses  the  language  of  melancholy  fact. 

It  was  open  to  Christianity  at  starting  to  adopt 
and  impose  a  higher  law  than  the  necessities  of  society 
allowed.  Community  of  goods  is  better  than  the  ap- 
propriation of  them,  and  the  renunciation  of  the  sword 
better  than  the  use  of  it,  provided  only  these  agree 
with  the  necessities  of  society.  It  was  open,  therefore, 
to  Christianity  to  have  prohibited  property  and  war. 
But  such  a  course  would  have  been  in  the  first  place 
wrong,  if  we  may  so  speak ;  because  the  higher  law 


War. 


135 


which  is  right  if  it  agrees  with  the  necessities  of 
society,  is  wrong  if  it  contradicts  them ;  and  in  the 
next  place,  though  a  sect  can  afford  to  be  arbitrary  and 
exclusive,  and  to  disown  natural  rights,  Christianity,  if 
it  had  done  so,  would  have  been  abandoning  its  mission 
to  embrace  the  world.  There  was  therefore  an  inaugu- 
ration of  an  era,  a  symbolical  fragment,  and  expression 
by  action  of  the  law  of  love,  in  the  shape  of  a  passing 
scene  of  community  of  goods ;  but  Christianity  funda- 
mentally assumed  the  right  of  property,  and  assumed 
the  right  of  war.  The  right  of  property  was  open  to 
the  greatest  abuses ;  the  right  of  war  was  a  great  evil 
to  prevent  a  greater ;  but  they  were  necessary — abso- 
lutely necessary,  therefore  Christianity  did  not  shrink 
from  them. 

But  Christianity  at  the  same  time  only  sanctions 
war  through  the  medium  of  natural  society,  and  upon 

I  the  hypothesis  of  a  world  at  discord  with  herself.  In 
her  own  world  war  would  be  impossible.    And  this 

I  mixture  of  Christianity  with  an  alien  hypothesis  it  is, 
which  makes  Christian  war  so  portentous  a  fact — 
almost  like  a  picture  of  Manichean  dualism,  in  which 
the  empire  of  light  and  darkness,  order  and  confusion, 
spirit  and  matter,  divine  peace  and  self-conflicting 

l|  uproar,  coalesce  in  one  creation.  In  Christian  war, 
upon  each  one  is  the  Holy  Spirit's  seal  of  peace,  and 
on  the  mass  wild  nature's  stamp  of  discord.  It  is 
indeed  a  humiliation,  and  we  shrink  back  from  it ;  but 
Christianity  is  obliged  to  act  upon  the  assumption  of 
that  world  which  as  a  matter  of  fact  exists,  not  upon 

||  the  assumption  of  her  own  ideal  world. 


136 


War. 


When  Faustus,  the  Manichean,  argued  with  Augus- 
tine for  his  own  idea  of  Christianity  against  the  Catholic 
one,  he  said  in  effect — I  want  to  release  Christianity 
from  degrading  alliances :  your  Gospel  is  too  accommo- 
dating ;  it  descends  to  the  lowest  connections,  and  rises 
upon  the  very  rudest  basis  of  the  Jewish  law  and  its 
low  and  sanguinary  morality  ;  rid  Christianity  of  this 
coarse  foundation,  and  shift  it  to  a  basis  of  sublime 
Magianism  instead,  and  I  will  join  you.  What  Faustus 
objected  to  was  the  actual  junction  in  which  the 
Divine  Spirit  of  revelation  in  the  Jewish  law  placed 
itself  with  the  rudimental  and  coarse  ideas  of  a  rude 
age.  But  though  Divine  revelation  might  have  come 
out  as  a  pure  ethereal  flame,  floating  in  air  to  feed  some 
few  fastidious  spirits,  and  neglecting  the  mass,  that 
was  not  its  temper ;  and  Augustine  declined  to  change 
the  Jewish  for  a  sublime  Magian  foundation  for  Chris- 
tianity. 

Now  the  rights  of  natural  society  are  not  to  be 
put  upon  a  par  with  the  rude  ideas  of  early  ages ; 
still  Christianity  does  undoubtedly  drag  an  enormous 
weight  with  her  in  the  adoption  of  these  natural 
rights  with  their  consequences.  We  speak  of  Chris- 
tianity joining  the  world  in  the  age  of  Constantine  ; 
but  indeed,  antecedently  to  any  particular  relations 
to  courts  or  states,  Christianity  is  weighted  with 
human  nature ;  is  burdened  by  having  to  act  upon  an 
alien  hypothesis;  and  has  to  admit  within  its  pale 
a  state  of  relationships  full  of  dreadful  disorder.  Yet 
it  stoops  to  conquer ;  it  grapples  with  the  coarse  ele- 
ments of  human  nature,  descends  to  the  dust  with 


War. 


137 


man,  to  raise  him  out  of  it ;  and  accommodates  its 
celestial  birth  to  a  worldly  sojourn. 

Lastly,  Christianity  comes  as  the  consoler  of  the 
sufFerings  of  war.  The  general  only  regards  his  men 
as  masses,  so  much  aggregate  of  force  ;  he  cannot 
aflford  to  look  at  them  in  any  other  aspect ;  he  has 
only  two  things  to  look  at,  the  end  and  the  means,  he 
cannot  pause  between  them  to  think  of  the  life  indi- 
vidual ;  it  would  carry  him  into  interminable  thought; 
it  would  be  meditating  as  a  sage,  not  acting ;  the 
idea  is  overwhelming,  and  it  would  paralyse  him ;  he 
may  admit  it  just  for  a  moment,  like  Xerxes,  but  he 
must  dismiss  it  instantly.  No  !  force  is  all  he  has  to 
do  with  ;  if  he  thinks  of  the  persons  he  totters ;  if  he 
pities,  he  is  gone.  But  the  Church  takes  up  the  mass 
exactly  where  he  left  off  ;  at  the  units  in  it, — the 
persons.  Every  one  of  these  had  his  hopes,  his  in- 
terests, his  schemes,  his  prospects  ;  but  to  some  a 
wound,  a  loss  of  limb,  in  a  moment  altered  all,  Chris- 
tianity  comes  to  him  as  comforter,  and  shows  how 
even  that  loss  may  be  a  gain.  Every  one  of  them  has 
his  home,  where  he  is  thought  of,  where  he  is  some- 
body. If  he  has  fallen.  Christian  hope  alleviates  the 
sorrow  of  that  home.  Thus  the  aspect  of  man  as  a 
mass  was  true  for  a  purpose  only,  and  false  in  itself. 
To  some,  to  think  of  humanity  as  personal  seems  a 
dream  and  romance  ;  that  it  is  an  aggregate,  a 
whole,  is  the  matter  of  fact ;  but  to  the  Church  this 
last  is  the  dream,  the  first  is  the  fact.  Mankind 
is  all  mass  to  the  human  eye,  and  all  individual  to 
the  Divine. 


NATURE. 


Psalm  civ.  1,  2. 

"  Thou  art  become  exceeding  glorious ;  thou  art  clothed  with  majesty 
and  honour.  Thou  deckest  thyself  with  light  as  it  were  tcith  a 
garment :  and  spreadest  out  the  heavens  like  a  curtain." 

'VT  ATURE  has  two  great  revelations, — that  of  use  and 
-'-^  that  of  beauty ;  and  the  first  thing  we  observe 
about  these  two  characteristics  of  her  is,  that  they  are 
bound  together,  and  tied  to  each  other.  It  would  not 
be  true,  indeed,  to  say  that  use  was  universally  accom- 
panied by  beauty ;  still,  upon  that  immense  scale  upon 
which  nature  is  beautiful,  it  is  beautiful  by  the  self- 
same material  and  laws  by  which  she  is  useful.  The 
beauty  of  nature  is  not,  as  it  were,  a  fortunate  acci- 
dent, which  can  be  separated  from  her  use ;  there  is  no 
difference  in  the  tenure  upon  which  these  two  charac- 
teristics stand ;  the  beauty  is  just  as  much  a  part  of 
nature  as  the  use ;  they  are  only  different  aspects  of 
the  self-same  facts.  Take  a  gorgeous  sunset ;  what  is 
the  substance  of  it  ?  only  a  combination  of  atmo- 
spheric laws  and  laws  of  hght  and  heat ;  the  same  laws 
by  which  we  are  enabled  to  live,  see,  and  breathe.  But 
the  solid  means  of  life  constitute  also  a  rich  sight ;  the 
usefulness  on  one  side  is  on  the  other  beauty.    It  is 


Nature. 


139 


not  that  the  mechanism  is  painted  over,  in  order  to 
disguise  the  deformity  of  machinery,  but  the  machinery 
is  itself  the  painting ;  the  useful  laws  compose  the 
spectacle.  All  the  colours  of  the  landscape,  the  tints 
of  spring  and  autumn,  the  hues  of  twilight  and  the 
dawn — all  that  might  seem  the  superfluities  of  Nature, 
are  only  her  most  necessary  operations  under  another 
view ;  her  ornament  is  but  another  aspect  of  her  work ; 
and  in  the  very  act  of  labouring  as  a  machine,  she  also 
sleeps  as  a  picture.  So  in  the  sphere  of  space  — ■  the 
same  lines  which  serve  as  the  measure  of  distance,  to 
regulate  aU  our  motions,  also  make  the  beauty  of  per- 
spective. 

But  if  the  first  thing  we  observe  respecting  use  and 
beauty  is,  that  they  are  united  in  their  source,  the  next 
thing  we  observe  is,  that  in  themselves  they  are 
totally  separate.  These  two  effects  of  nature  are  as 
totally  different  and  distinct  facts  as  can  be  conceived. 
Who  could  possibly  have  told  beforehand  that  those 
physical  laws  which  fed  us,  clothed  us,  gave  us  breath 
and  motion,  the  use  of  our  organs,  and  all  the  means 
of  life,  would  also  create  a  picture  ?  These  two  results 
are  divided  toto  ccelo  from  each  other.  These  laws  go 
on  employing  themselves  upon  plain  hard  work,  till 
we  become  suddenly  alive  to  their  throwing  off,  in  this 
working,  a  magnificent  spectacle,  as  if  by  some  happy 
luck.  We  can,  as  spectators,  abstract  the  picture  from 
the  mechanism.  The  picture  does  not  feed  us,  clothe 
us,  fill  our  lungs,  nourish  our  nerves  and  centres  of 
motion.  Although  the  picture  is  a  pure  derivation 
from,  although  it  is  essentially  united  to,  the  working 


I40 


Nature. 


apparatus,  it  is  a  completely  distinct  conception  from 
it.  We  see  a  surprising  co-existence  of  two  characters 
in  nature,  but  we  see  no  reason  why  they  go  together, 
why  they  should  be  bound  to  each  other ;  and  it  seems 
to  be  a  kind  of  duplication  of  the  identity  of  nature, 
and  a  work  of  magic,  as  the  same  facts  are  metamor- 
phosed from  use  into  beauty,  and  vice  versa.  We  have 
not  the  slightest  conception  of  the  common  root  in 
which  these  enormous  diversities  unite,  the  unity  to 
which  they  mount  up,  the  ultimate  heading  out  of 
which  both  branch,  the  secret  of  their  identity. 

To  go  to  the  fact  which  has  called  out  these  re- 
marks. It  is  worth  observing,  in  the  history  of  the 
mind  of  this  country,  the  formation  of  a  kind  of  pas- 
sion for  scenery  and  natural  beauty.  And  though  great 
poets  have  led  the  way  here,  it  has  been  caught  by  the 
mass,  and  the  sight  of  nature  has  undoubtedly  gained 
an  extraordinary  power  over  people's  minds ;  witness  the 
quantity  of  travelling  there  is,  purely  to  get  the  sight 
of  grand  objects.  This  is  rather  a  new  feature  of  the 
world — the  popular  pursuit  of  natural  beauty,  the 
inoculation  of  the  crowd  with  it ;  the  subject  entering 
so  much  into  people's  thoughts,  and  being  made  so  much 
a  business  of.  And  though  it  might  sometimes  appear 
that  there  is  nothing  particularly  serious  in  the  cur- 
rent fashion,  still  the  general  sentiment  shows  a  serious 
passion  existing  in  the  poetry  and  thought  of  the  age, 
which  it  follows  and  copies. 

This  new  passion,  then,  for  the  beauty  of  the  ex- 
ternal world,  has  strongly  developed  the  two  points  in 
it  just  noticed.    First,  it  has  realised  that  the  beauty 


Nature. 


141 


of  nature  is  a  distinct  revelation  made  to  the  human 
mind,  from  that  of  its  use.  A  vast  fabric  of  poetical 
language  has  sprung  up,  which  has  abstracted  the 
picture  in  nature  from  the  mechanism ;  which  has 
separated  the  scenic  exhibition  and  appeal  to  the  eye, 
from  the  whole  useful  structure  and  apparatus,  and 
detaching  the  whole  beautiful  surface  from  its  frame- 
work, has  hung  it  up  as  an  ethereal  representation  in 
space,  for  mankind  simply  to  gaze  at  and  contemplate 
as  a  vision.  The  older  poetical  view  brought  in  more 
the  utility  and  active  force  of  nature,  its  nourishing 
powers,  wealth,  comfort,  and  prosperity.  In  the  newer 
description,  without  at  all  dismissing  utility,  which  is 
a  sacred  thought  to  keep  in  reserve,  and  essential  even 
to  the  full  poetical  view  of  nature,  the  main  contem- 
plation of  the  poet  is  still  a  vision,  in  which  the  mar- 
vellous surface  of  nature  is  represented.  He  has  fixed 
his  eye  upon  the  passive  spectacle — upon  nature  as  an 
appearance,  a  sight,  a  picture.  To  another  he  leaves 
the  search  and  analysis ;  he  is  content  to  look,  and 
to  look  only  ;  this,  and  this  alone,  satisfies  him  ;  he 
stands  like  a  watcher  or  sentinel,  gazing  on  earth,  sea 
and  sky,  upon  the  vast  assembled  imagery,  upon  the 
rich  majestic  representation  on  the  canvas. 

But  though  this  view  separates  the  beauty  from 
the  use,  the  picture  from  the  mechanism,  by  an  act  of 
the  imagination,  it  still  retains  intrinsically  the  union 
of  the  two  ;  and  from  this  union  a  result  follows.  The 
picture  becomes,  by  virtue  of  it,  as  immediate  a 
derivation  from  the  Divine  Mind  as  the  utility  of 
nature ;  as  much  a  vision  of  the  Divine  raising  as  the 


142 


Nature. 


solid  structure  is  a  macliiiiery  of  the  Divine  con- 
trivance. 

AVliat  is  the  religious  bearing  then,  of  this  modern 
passion  for  nature  in  its  pictorial  aspect,  which  is  a 
feature  of  the  day ;  which  is  a  profounder  feeling  than 
the  taste  and  sentiment  of  a  former  age ;  and  which 
has  developed  itself  in  the  way  which  has  been  just 
described,  viz.,  by  throT\dng  itself  wholly  upon  the 
picture  and  spectacle  in  nature  ?  The  rise  of  this 
remarkable  feeling  in  society  is  a  fact  that  deserves 
attention  in  this  aspect,  as  it  cannot  well  be  without 
some  consequences  bearing  on  religion. 

First,  then,  with  respect  to  the  place  which  the 
beauty  of  nature  has  in  the  argument  of  Design  from 
natm^e.  When  the  materialist  has  exhausted  himself 
in  efforts  to  explain  utility  in  nature,  it  would  appear 
to  be  the  peculiar  ofl&ce  of  beauty  to  rise  up  suddenly 
as  a  confounding  and  baffling  extra,  which  was  not 
even  formally  pro"sdded  for  in  his  scheme.  Nature 
goes  off  at  a  tangent  which  carries  her  farther  than 
ever  from  the  head  under  which  he  places  her,  and 
shows  the  utter  inadequacy  of  that  head  to  include 
all  that  has  to  be  included  in  it.  The  secret  of  nature 
is  farther  off  than  ever  from  what  he  thinks  it.  Phy- 
sical science  goes  back  and  back  into  nature,  but  it  is  the 
aspect  and  front  of  nature  which  gives  the  challenge ; 
and  it  is  a  challenge  which  no  backward  train  of  phy- 
sical causes  can  meet.  This  applies  even  to  the  useful 
contrivance  of  nature,  viz.,  that  what  we  have  to 
account  for  is  the  face  of  nature,  that  which  meets  the 
eye  in  the  shape  of  obvious  arrangement  and  coUoca- 


Nature. 


143 


tion.  The  physical  causes  are  only  all  the  separate 
items  traced  back  step  after  step  ;  which  is  no  explana- 
tion of  their  collocation.  Thus,  the  more  men  retreat 
into  the  interior  the  farther  they  fly  from  the  true 
problem,  and  leave  altogether  behind  them  the  ques- 
tion— what  makes  the  arrangement  and  the  disposition  ? 
But  the  remark  applies  even  more  conspicuously  to  the 
beauty  of  nature.    I  will  explain. 

There  is  this  remarkable  difference  between  useful 
contrivance  and  beauty  as  evidence  of  an  intelligent 
cause ;  that  contrivance  has  a  complete  end  and  ac- 
count of  itself  without  any  reference  to  the  under- 
standing of  man.  True,  it  is  an  object,  and  a  very 
stimulating  object,  of  the  understanding,  but  it  does 
not  require  that  use  of  it  in  order  to  account  for  it ; 
even  if  no  single  one  of  all  those  sentient  beings  who 
profit  by  the  contrivance  of  nature  understand  it,  still 
they  profit  by  it  all  the  same  ;  this  is  a  sufficient 
account  of  it ;  it  is  enough  if  it  works,  and  it  is  not 
necessary  for  its  use  that  it  should  be  seen.  But  it  is 
essential  to  the  very  sense  and  meaning  of  beauty  that 
it  should  be  seen  ;  and  in  as  much  as  it  is  visible  to 
reason  alone,  we  have  thus  in  the  very  structure  of 
nature  a  recognition  of  reason,  and  a  distinct  address 
to  reason  ;  wholly  unaccountable  unless  there  is  a 
higher  reason  or  mind  to  which  to  make  it.  For  what 
but  reason  can  address  reason  ?  I  say  beauty  is 
visible  to  reason  alone.  It  is  remarkable  that  if  any 
one  asks  himself — what  I  suppose  every  one  has  done 
at  some  time,  when  he  has  had  some  great  spectacle  of 
nature  before  him — why  does  this  scene  impress  me  ? 


1 44  Nature. 

— what  makes  the  beauty  of  it  ?  why  should  we  be 
affected  by  visible  objects  in  the  way  we  are  ?  by  so 
many  perpendicular  feet  of  height  or  depth  ?  by 
masses,  projections,  angles,  vapour,  colom',  space,  and 
extent  ? — that  we  can  get  no  answer  whatever  to  this 
question  from  the  facts  themselves.  It  is  an  entire 
puzzle  LQ  that  dii'ection,  and  like  trj^ing  to  look  through 
a  wall.  The  only  accurate  information  which  we  can 
procure  about  these  facts  is  what  a  surveyor  or  mine- 
ralogist can  give  us  ;  the  facts  themselves  are  wholly 
inadequate  to  account  for  the  poetical  impression  they 
produce  ;  and  so  long  as  we  search  in  that  quarter 
only,  so  long  it  must  appear  senseless,  that  a  man 
should  be  really  mentally  affected  by  this  size,  length, 
height,  depth,  and  the  other  items  of  a  scene  of  nature. 
But  the  glory  of  nature  in  reality  resides  in  the  mind 
of  man  ;  there  is  an  inward  intervening  light  through 
which  the  material  objects  pass,  a  transforming  medium 
which  converts  the  physical  assemblage  into  a  picture. 
It  must  be  remarked  that  the  whole  of  what  any  scene 
of  earth  or  sky  is  materially,  is  stamped  upon  the 
retina  of  the  brute,  just  as  it  is  upon  the  man's  ;  and 
that  the  brute  sees  all  the  same  objects  which  are 
beautiful  to  man,  only  without  their  beauty;  which 
aspect  is  inherent  in  man,  and  part  of  his  reason.  He 
possesses  the  key  to  the  sight ;  and  that  which  makes 
the  appearance  what  it  is,  resides  in  him ;  and  is  an 
inner  light  or  splendour  reflected  from  his  reason  upon 
the  surface  of  the  universal  frame  of  things.  The 
type  of  beauty  then  on  -which  the  universe  is  framed, 
being  essentially  a  relative  thing,  the  very  existence  of 


Nature. 


H5 


which  requires  reason  to  see  it ;  the  existence  of  beauty, 
unless  we  account  for  the  correspondence  of  the  two 
by  clvince,  is  an  express  acknowledgment  of  rational 
mind,  which  cannot  proceed  except  from  mind. 

But  leaving  natural  beauty  as  a  part  of  evidence,  we 
will  go  to  the  mode  in  which  it  bears  upon  the  principle 
of  worship,  and  upon  the  religious  sentiment  or  emo- 
tions. It  is  obvious,  in  the  first  place,  that  the  beauty 
of  nature  is  necessary  for  the  perfection  of  praise ; 
and  that  the  praise  of  the  Creator  must  be  essentially 
weakened  without  it ;  it  must  be  roused  and  excited 
by  sight.  It  may  seem  extraordinary,  but  it  is  the 
case  that,  though  we  certainly  look  at  contrivance  or 
machinery  in  nature  with  a  high  admii-ation,  still,  with 
all  its  countless  and  multitudinous  uses,  which  we  ac- 
knowledge with  gratitude,  there  is  nothing  in  it  which 
raises  the  mind's  interest  in  nearly  the  same  degree 
that  beauty  does.  It  is  an  awakening  sight ;  and  one 
way  in  which  it  acts  is  by  exciting  a  certain  curiosity 
about  the  Deity.  It  must  be  observed  that  the  old 
Design  language  was  deficient  in  this  respect,  and  got 
too  much  in  the  direction  as  if  we  knew  everything 
about  God :  He  was  benevolent  and  intelligent,  wdse 
and  contriving,  and  studied  man's  bodily  and  social 
interest.  But  beauty  stands  upon  the  threshold  of 
the  mystical  world,  and  excites  a  curiosity  about  God. 
In  what  does  He  possess  character,  feelings,  relations 
to  us  ? — all  unanswerable  questions  ;  but  the  very  en- 
tertainment of  which  is  an  excitement  of  the  reason, 
and  throws  us  upon  the  thought  of  what  there  is 
behind  the  veil.    This  curiosity  is  a  strong  part  of 


1 46  Natrire. 


worship  and  of  praise.  To  think  that  we  know  every- 
thing about  God  is  to  benumb  and  deaden  worship ; 
but  mystical  thought  quickens  worship  ;  and  the 
beauty  of  natm'e  raises  mystical  thought.  So  long  as 
a  man  is  probing  nature,  and  in  the  thick  of  its  causes 
and  operations,  he  is  too  busy  about  his  own  inquiries 
to  receive  this  impress  from  her  ;  but  place  the  picture 
before  him,  and  he  becomes  conscious  of  a  veil  and 
curtain  which  has  the  secrets  of  a  moral  existence  be- 
hind it ;  interest  is  inspii"ed,  curiosity  is  awakened, 
and  worship  is  raised.  "  Surely  Thou  art  a  God  that 
liidest  Thyself."  But  if  God  simply  hid  Himself  and 
nothing  more,  if  we  knew  nothing,  we  should  not  wish 
to  know  more.  But  the  veil  suggests  that  it  is  a  veil, 
and  that  there  is  something  beliind  it  which  it  conceals. 
It  thus  raises  a  curiosity  about  God,  whose  character  is  so 
faintly,  just  hinted,  and  then  wrapped  again  in  darkness. 
But  it  is  this  which  composes  what  we  call  mystical 
feeling.  The  mystical  idea  of  the  Deity  is  only  in  fact 
the  moral  idea  of  Him,  with  curiosity  superadded — 
curiosity  grasping  the  existence  of  the  unknown,  but 
knowing  it  cannot  be  gratified  as  to  what  it  is. 

This  is  one  great  efiect  then  of  that  whole  bolder 
view  of  nature  as  a  picture,  which  more  recent  poetical 
thought  has  struck  out.  It  is  the  tendency  of  a  highly 
civilised  age  to  object  to  mystery  in  religion,  but  it  is 
significant  and  worth  observing  that  the  same  bar  is 
not  put  to  it  in  nature.  Poetry  is  allowed  to  border 
upon  the  horizon  of  mysticism,  the  privilege  is  given 
to  it,  and  it  is  admitted  that  it  may  do  so  with  truth, 
with  taste,  and  with  good  sense.    Mystical  feeling  has 


Nature. 


indeed  always,  alike  in  its  highest  and  in  its  lowest 
forms,  flourished  upon  exteriors  ;  a  sight  has  sug- 
gested the  unseen  ;  and  the  ancient  hierophant  ini- 
tiated men  into  his  sanctuary  of  wisdom  by  a  suc- 
cession of  sights.  If  then  any  great  movement  of 
thought  in  an  age  summons  forth  a  great  spectacle,  or 
opens  men's  eyes  to  one  which  before  they  had  not  so 
fully  seen,  still  more,  if  it  converts  the  universe  into 
a  great  sight ;  such  a  movement  will  infallibly  engen- 
der mystical  thought.  The  sight  will  act  as  a  spell 
and  fascination  on  men's  minds,  and  though  it  will  roll 
the  unquiet  or  the  listless  round  and  round  in  a  dream 
of  mere  idle  wonder  and  speculation,  it  will  in  others 
kindle  the  spark  of  worship  and  praise. 

But  again,  nature  is  partly  a  curtain  and  partly  a 
disclosure,  partly  a  veil  and  partly  a  revelation ;  and 
here  we  come  to  her  faculty  of  symbolism,  which  is  so 
strong  an  aid  to,  and  has  so  immensely  affected,  the 
principles  of  worship.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  it 
is  natural  for  us  to  regard  the  beauty  and  grandeur  of 
nature  as  not  stopping  with  itself,  but  bearing  a  rela- 
tion to  something  moral,  of  which  it  is  the  similitude 
and  type.  We  do  so  by  an  inherent  force  of  associa- 
tion, which  we  cannot  break  from.  Certainly  no  per- 
son has  a  right  to  fasten  his  own  fancies  upon  the 
visible  creation,  and  say  that  its  various  features  mean 
this  and  that,  resemble  this  or  that  in  the  moral  world ; 
but  if  the  association  is  universal,  if  we  cannot  even 
describe  nature  without  the  help  of  moral  terms — so- 
lemn, tender,  awful,  and  the  like — it  is  evidence  of  a 
natural  and  real  similitude  of  physical  things  to  moral. 


148 


Nature. 


If  we  are  asked  for  an  explanation  indeed  of  this — how 
it  is  that  what  is  physical  can  resemble  what  is  spirit- 
ual, and  how  there  can  be  such  a  translation  of  one 
thing  into  another — we  cannot  say;  we  cannot  explain, 
as  we  just  now  said,  why  material  objects  impress  the 
imagination ;  and  so  we  cannot  explain  why  material 
objects  are  emblematic.  We  can  only  say  that  the 
interpretation  is  part  of  our  reason.  The  child  in  its 
nurse's  arms  catches  at  a  ribbon,  or  its  eye  is  caught 
by  something  that  shines.  It  is  the  beginning  of  a 
^  process  in  the  mind  of  man  which  makes  material 
sights  and  objects  first  beautiful  and  then  emblematic, 
first  fine  images  and  then  moral  images — a  process 
which  starts  ^-ith  a  physical  impulse  and  ends  in 
spiritualising  nature,  and  gi^^ng  a  soul  to  the  world 
of  mere  measures  and  sizes — lengths  and  breadths, 
heights  and  depths,  lights  and  shadows. 

We  cannot,  for  instance,  but  note  that  remarkable 
desire  which  seems  to  be  innate  in  all, — grave  and  gay, 
serious  and  thoughtless  alike — the  desire  to  be  solem- 
nised. People  like  being  awed,  they  enjoy  it;  it  is 
almost  like  a  physical  pleasure  to  them ;  they  reKsh 
being  silenced  for  a  moment  by  some  grand  object, 
some  striking  sight  in  nature ;  one  of  those  great 
forms  and  magnitudes  in  natm'e,  one  of  those  alti- 
tudes, one  of  those  abysses.  The  crowd  find  awe  a 
pleasant  sensation ;  they  will  travel  a  great  distance 
for  it,  and  to  gain  some  overpowering  impress.  Why 
is  this  ?  What  can  it  be  that  makes  even  the  trifling 
and  volatile  Like  of  all  things  to  be  awed.  The  multi- 
tude does  not  show  any  great  sympathy  with  solemn 


Nature. 


149 


ideas  in  ordinaiy  life ;  they  do  not  seek  them,  their 
happiness  does  not  depend  on  them.  Yet  to  be 
solemnised  by  an  outward  spectacle,  to  have  it  done 
for  them,  is  delightful. 

Now  this  craving  for  the  transient  awe  inspired  by 
some  grand  object  is  undoubtedly  connected  with  the 
chronic  disquiet  of  man's  mind,  his  want  of  control 
over  his  thoughts.  This  constitutes  a  normal  restless- 
ness ;  he  is  carried  off  in  mind  here,  there,  and  every- 
where, as  different  images  fly  past  him,  coming  he 
knows  not  whence ;  he  is  surrounded  by  floating  hosts 
of  shadows,  which  call  him  off"  at  any  moment  from  his 
tack,  and  beckon  him  to  follow  them.  Even  in  his 
engaged  states,  when  he  is  tied  to  some  object,  side 
currents  are  perpetually  interfering  with  him,  and  sKp- 
ping  into  the  empty  interstices  of  his  thoughts.  He 
would  fain  Ijreak  away  from  the  yoke  of  his  own  levity, 
but  the  fatigue  of  resistance  brings  him  under  it  again, 
and  he  finds  he  cannot  cope  with  the  tyrant.  His 
passions  take  advantage  of  his  feebleness,  and  add  a 
stimulus  to  the  caprice  of  nature  ;  they  crowd  in  upon 
the  vacant  mind,  and  open  tracts  of  desultory  fancy  ; 
they  suggest,  they  insinuate,  they  provoke  ;  they  raise 
obnoxious  images,  the  pursuit  of  which  leads  to  fresh 
urelevant  flights.  Thus  the  inner  life  of  man  is  ii, 
struggle  with  volatility  and  disorder,  which  issues  in 
a  law  of  restlessness,  under  which  he  still  nourishes  a 
perpetual  longing  for  some  satisfying  repose.  This  is 
what  he  craves  ;  and  could  some  new  grandeur  be  dis- 
covered in  nature,  which  could  by  its  own  uxcsistible 
impress  quell  the  whole  discord  of  his  mind,  could  he 


Nature. 


count  upon  some  sight  whicli  would  petrify  Lim  and 
strike  him  dumb  with  amazement,  he  would  go  half 
over  the  world  to  see  it. 

Awe  then  is  a  pleasurable  sensation,  for  this 
simple  reason,  that  there  exists  at  the  bottom  of  every 
one's  mind  the  idea  of  a  great  Being  to  whom  awe  is 
due.  It  is  evident  that  there  must  be  a  pleasm'e 
springing  from  all  the  feelings  which  fulfil  and  express 
real  relations, — the  proper  relations  of  one  being  to 
another ;  awe  is  the  feeling  which  expresses  the  rela- 
tion to  the  Great  Being  above  us ;  and  therefore  there 
must  be  a  real  pleasure  attaching  to  awe.  A  mock 
awe,  or  even  an  awe  merely  professed  and  put  on, 
when  it  is  not  really  felt,  out  of  good  behaviour,  is  a 
burden ;  but  the  real  sensation  must,  in  the  very  reason 
of  the  case,  be  one  of  the  pleasures  of  nature.  And 
therefore  it  does  not  require  seriousness  to  feel  the 
pl-easure  of  awe ;  even  the  light-minded  and  thought- 
less can  feel  it  when  circumstances  and  objects  pro- 
duce it  for  them ;  because  they  cannot  prevent  them- 
selves having  their  own  nature,  and  this  is  an  ac- 
companiment of  that  nature.  Nothing  indeed  can  speak 
more  clearly  to  the  religious  sense  in  man  than  this 
pleasure  of  being  awed.  "What  does  it  mean  without 
it  ?  It  is  nonsense.  Unless  reason  divines  a  superior 
Being  to  whom  awe  is  really  due,  it  is  unaccountable 
that  it  should  be  pleasant. 

To  give  then  physical  greatness  the  power  of 
imparting  this  awe,  there  must  be  a  radical  associa- 
tion in  our  minds  of  physical  greatness  wiili  this  ex- 
istence above  us ;  the  mere  physical  thing  could  not 


mi 


Nature. 


do  it  of  itself;  taken  by  itself  it  is  nothing,  only- 
matter.  It  can  only,  in  the  reason  of  the  case,  act  by 
means  of  an  interpretation  which  it  gathers  in  passing 
through  our  minds.  And  this  interpretation  cannot 
be  of  our  own  making,  otherwise  it  could  not  command 
our  choice ;  as  we  made  it,  so  we  could  throw  it  off. 
If  it  was  our  own  artifice  we  should  find  it  out ;  or  not 
let  it  cheat  us.  It  is  in  our  nature  then.  It  is  not 
arbitrary,  but  independent  of  our  will.  And  so  when 
men  are  solemnised  by  mere  quiet  and  ordinary  means 
— solitude,  the  shadows  of  evening,  moonlight,  and  the 
like,  it  is  impossible  that  these  mere  physical  condi- 
tions of  matter  can  afiect  the  feelings  in  any  way,  except 
it  is  that  they  collect  a  signification  in  passing  through 
our  mind,  receive  the  stamp  of  an  implanted  association, 
and  are  linked  on  to  the  spiritual  realm  by  an  obscure 
medium  which  is  too  far  below  for  us  to  get  hold  of. 

And  from  these  observations  we  may  see  in  what 
sense  the  glory  of  nature,  or  that  great  picture  which 
proceeds,  together  with  the  mechanism  of  nature,  from 
God,  is  a  manifestation  of  God.  Nature  is  sometimes 
spoken  of  in  a  pantheistic  corporeal  manner ;  as  if  it 
were  a  kind  of  bodily  manifestation  of  the  Divine 
Being,  analogous  to  that  garment  of  the  flesh  which 
encircles  the  human  soul,  and  is  the  instrument  of 
expression  to  it.  But  the  manifestation  of  the  Deity 
which  takes  place  in  the  beauty  of  nature  rests  upon 
the  ground  and  the  principle  of  language.  It  is  the 
revelation  of  the  character  of  God  in  the  way  a 
material  type  or  similitude  can  be.  But  a  type  is  a 
kind  of  distinct  language — the  language  of  oblique 


Nature. 


and  indii-ect  exj)ression,  as  contrasted  A\dth  direct.  We 
may  remark  tliat  indirect  language  is  an  important 
and  real  section  of  language,  and  it  grows  up  and 
comes  to  great  perfection  in  cultivated  society, — tlie 
meaning  of  the  speaker  being  conveyed  by  an  angle  to 
its  destination.  It  is  indeed  unfortunate  tliat  that 
which  is  so  beautiful  and  delicate  a  branch  of  speech 
in  itself,  should  have  been  enlisted  with  such  special 
success  in  the  service  of  malice,  and  that  when  we  go 
for  the  most  perfect  forms  of  it,  we  turn  unconsciously 
to  the  pohshed  conflicts  of  hostile  minds ;  that  it  is 
there  we  should  see  at  its  greatest  advantage  that 
mechanism  of  diction  which  acts  so  obliquely,  that 
while  the  effect  is  completely  reached,  the  agency 
seems  quite  unconscious  of  the  cause :  the  mere  situa- 
tion of  a  word  speaks,  and  unexpected  light  glances 
from  the  dullest  corners.  But  indeed  language  is 
everywhere  half  sign  ;  its  hieroglyphics,  the  dumb 
modes  of  expression,  surpass  the  speech.  All  action 
indeed  is,  besides  being  action,  language ;  if  you  do  a 
thing  for  another,  that  is  language  ;  if  you  do  not  do 
it,  that  is  language ;  and  if  you  half  do  it,  that  is 
language  too.  A  look  gives  the  warning  and  the  hope  ; 
a  look  gives  the  threat  and  the  promise.  Fragments 
are  the  very  pick  of  expression — that  reality  which 
just  comes  to  the  surface  for  a  moment,  the  light 
which  just  breaks  uj)on  the  countenance,  and  is  swal- 
lowed up  in  night  again,  and  in  the  mask  of  custom, 
— what  we  call  nature — is  like  something  fluctuating 
in  darkness,  which  is  just  called  up  to  the  surface  by 
an  eddy,  and  is  engulphed  in  the  depth  again.   It  only 


Nature. 


'53 


exists  in  broken  gleams  and  vanishing  hints,  and  the 
proverb  is  true  which  says,  the  half  is  more  than  the 
whole  ;  fragments  mean  most. 

Imagine,  then,  this  distant  language,  this  trans- 
parent veil  of  enigma  or  hint  carried  into  the  exalted 
region  of  communication  between  the  Supreme  Being 
and  the  creature,  and  we  have  what  is  in  fact  the 
language  of  nature  as  a  picture.  If  symbolism  indeed 
has  no  natural  basis,  if  the  association  of  material 
images  with  moral  is  entirely  arbitrary  and  artificial, 
then  there  is  no  language  in  nature ;  but  if,  on  the 
other  hand,  there  is  a  consensus  and  uniformity  in  the 
interpretation  of  physical  things,  i.e.,  the  mode  in 
which  our  feelings  are  affected  by  them ;  if  no  pcoj^le 
have  ever  existed  to  whom  the  sky  has  not  suggested 
one  set  of  ideas ;  if  God  has  always  spoken  with  one 
voice — not  literally  indeed  in  the  thunder — but  in  the 
imjiress  of  awe  and  solemnity  which  He  has  attached 
to  the  thunder ;  if  love,  joy,  peace,  hope,  have  attached 
to  the  same  features  of  nature  everywhere  ;  if  there  is 
general  agreement  in  these  impresses,  and  they  proceed 
inevitably  from  God's  own  work  in  the  construction 
of  our  minds,  then  there  is  language  ;  and  language  in 
something  more  than  a  metaphorical  sense,  a  true 
communication  and  indication  according  to  the  medium 
employed.  The  cypher  is  not  unintelligible ;  it  lets 
out  something.  The  Great  Spirit,  speaking  by  dumb 
representation  to  other  spirits,  intimates  and  signifies 
to  them  something  about  Himself,  for  if  nature  is 
symbolical,  what  it  is  symbolical  about  must  be  its 
author.    The  Deity  over  and  above  our  inward  con- 


154 


Nature. 


science  wants  His  external  world  to  tell  us  He  is 
moral ;  He  therefore  creates  in  nature  a  universal 
language  about  Himself;  its  features  convey  signals 
from  a  distant  country,  and  man  is  placed  in  com- 
munication with  a  great  correspondent  whose  tablet 
he  interprets.  And  thus  is  formed  that  which  is 
akin  to  worship  in  the  poetical  view  of  nature.  While 
we  do  not  worship  the  material  created  sign,  for  that 
would  be  idolatry,  we  still  repose  on  it  as  the  true 
language  of  the  Deity. 

In  this  peculiar  view  of  nature, — the  mind  fastening 
upon  it  as  a  spectacle  or  picture, — it  is  to  be  observed 
that  there  are  two  points  in  striking  concurrence  with 
the  vision -language  of  Scripture.  First,  Scripture 
has  specially  consecrated  the  faculty  of  sight,  and  has 
partly  put  forth,  and  has  promised  in  a  still  more  com- 
plete form,  a  manifestation  of  the  Deity  to  mankind, 
through  the  medium  of  a  great  sight.  This  view  only 
breaks  out  in  fragments  in  the  Old  Testament,  and 
may  be  distinguished  from  its  ordinary  language.  The 
ordinary  language  is  the  praise  of  God's  works  as  the 
evidences  of  His  contrivance  and  goodness  ;  "in 
wisdom  has  He  made  them  all His  works  are  His 
instruments.  His  servants,  and  His  ministers  ;  they  do 
His  bidding  ;  they  tremble  at  the  look  of  Him ;  they 
praise  and  adore  Him ;  fire,  and  hail ;  snow,  and  vapour ; 
wind  and  storm  fulfilling  His  word :  mountains,  and  all 
hills ;  fruitful  trees,  and  all  cedars :  beasts,  and  all  cattle ; 
worms,  and  feathered  fowl.  But  so  far,  though  giving 
ample  proofs  of  His  power  and  benevolence,  nature  does 
not  symbolise  and  figuratively  manifest  the  Deity. 


Nature. 


155 


But  this  latter  view  breaks  through  the  clouds,  and 
emerges  into  light  when  nature  is  spoken  of  as  the 
garment  and  robe  of  the  Deity,  when  the  glory  of  the 
Lord  covers  the  tabernacle  ;  when  Moses  is  permitted 
to  behold  from  the  cleft  in  the  rock  the  skirts  of  the 
Divine  glory.  Especially  does  the  idea  of  a  visible 
manifestation  come  out  in  the  prophetic  visions,  where 
the  splendid  gleams  and  colours  of  nature,  sapphire 
and  amber,  rainbow  and  flame,  are  collected  together, 
and  combined  in  an  emblematic  figure  and  shape,  in 
order  to  make  the  appearance  of  the  likeness  of  the 
glory  of  the  Lord."  ^  "  And  when  I  saw,  says  the 
Prophet,  I  fell  on  my  face,  and  I  heard  the  voice  of 
one  that  spake."  But  the  scattered  rays  of  pictorial 
representation  which  only  occasionally  pierce  through 
the  clouds  of  the  Old  Testament,  are  gathered  into  one 
focus  in  the  New,  they  converge  and  are  absorbed  into 
an  ineffable,  eternal  appearance,  in  which  God  will 
ever  be  seen  as  He  is,  and  they  issue  in  the  doctrine 
of  the  Yisio  Dei.  It  must  be  remarked  by  everybody, 
that  the  glory  of  the  future  state  of  the  Christian  reve- 
lation is  always  put  before  us  not  as  an  inner  con- 
sciousness or  mental  communion  simply, — not  as  an 
absorption  into  ourselves  within,  but  as  a  great  spec- 
tacle without  us ;  the  spectacle  of  a  great  visible  mani' 
festation  of  God.  It  is  a  sight,  a  picture,  a  repre- 
sentation,  that  constitutes  the  heavenly  state,  not 
mere  thought  and  contemplation.  The  glorified  saint 
of  Scripture  is  especially  a  beholder;  he  gazes,  he  looks] 
he  fixes  his  eyes  upon  something  before  him  ;  he  does 

'  Ezekiel  i.  28. 


156 


Nature. 


not  merely  rumiDate  within,  but  his  whole  mind  is 
carried  out  towards  and  upon  a  great  representation. 
And  thus  Heaven  specially  appears  in  Scripture  as  the 
sphere  of  perfected  sight ;  where  the  faculty  is  raised 
and  exalted  to  its  highest  act,  and  the  happiness  of 
existence  culminates  in  vision.  Whatever  then  may 
be  the  real  and  full  meaning  of  these  great  emblematic 
representations  in  Scripture,  it  is  not  putting  any 
strain  upon  the  poetical  attitude  toward  nature  on  which 
we  are  commenting,  or  giving  it  a  theological  inter- 
pretation, to  observe  that  so  far  as  it  converts  nature 
into  a  great  spectacle,  and  an  emblematic  spectacle 
which  is  significant  of,  and  manifests  and  expresses,  the 
Divine  Mind,  so  far  it  concurs  with  Scripture  language, 
and  gives  its  witness  to  the  principle  of  the  Scriptural 
representation.  It  couples  in  an  extraordinary  way 
high  fruition  with  sight,  and  it  raises  up  a  manifesta- 
tion of  the  Deity  by  an  emblematic  spectacle  or  picture. 
But  such  a  vision  in  Nature  is  in  intimate  sympathy 
and  correspondence  with  the  visions  of  prophetic  illumi- 
nation. ProjDhetic  illumination  collects  the  splendours 
of  natm'e  into  a  particular  figm'c  and  outline,  which  is 
the  special  conception  of  the  Prophet's  mind ;  while 
Nature  herself  is  a  picture  which  fills  all  space, — the 
union  of  height,  depth,  magnitude,  colour,  light,  and 
shadow.  The  masses  group,  the  clouds  and  vapom's 
roll ;  and  earth,  sea,  and  sky,  combine  in  one  great 
scene  of  representation.  But  the  natm-al  picture  has 
in  its  measure  the  same  ofiice  which  the  conceived 
one  has,  and  performs  in  its  measure  the  same  part 
of  similitude  and  symbol. 


Natmr. 


157 


Secoudly,  it  must  be  remarked,  as  another  prin- 
ciple in  the  Scriptural  representation,  that  the  act  of 
seeing  a  perfectly  glorious  sight  or  object  is  what  con- 
stitutes the  spectator's  and  beholder's  own  glory.  The 
future  life  is  called  a  state  of  glory  in  Scripture,  and  it 
is  called  such  not  only  in  reference  to  the  world  in  which 
it  will  be  enjoyed,  which  is  a  glorious  world,  but  also 
with  regard  to  those  who  enjoy  it ;  who  attain  to  glory 
as  a  personal  state.  This  personal  state  is  enjoyed 
by  them  then  on  this  principle,  that  they  are  glorified 
as  spectators  of  glory,  that  beholding  Majesty  is  their 
own  exaltation,  and  adoration  their  own  ascent.  But 
this  latter  is  certainly  the  principle  of  nature,  and  it  is 
inculcated  by  all  who  vindicate  the  place  and  office  of 
nature  as  a  spectacle.  No  one  was  ever  struck  with 
wonder  and  admiration  in  beholding  the  works  of  God, 
no  one  was  ever  impressed  strongly  by  the  beauty  and 
majesty  of  the  visible  creation,  without  at  the  same 
time  feeling  an  accession  of  rank  and  elevation  to  him- 
self from  the  act.  There  is  an  ambition  which  is  grati- 
fied  by  admiration ;  and  true  admiration  is  a  kind  of 
glory  to  the  admirer ;  because  the  person  rises  in  it  to 
the  level  marked  out  to  him  as  a  spectator,  he  is  equal 
to  his  post,  and  his  perceptions  do  justice  to  the  object. 
It  raises  him  in  his  own  sight.  All  strong  fruition  is 
indeed  a  kind  of  glory  to  men  ;  they  are  magnified  to 
themselves  by  it ;  and  there  is  a  false  and  debased 
copy  of  this  when  the  extravagance  of  even  sensual 
joy  is  an  obvious  exaltation  of  the  man  in  his  own  eyes, 
and  he  feels  a  sort  of  glory  reflected  on  him  from  the 
effervescences  of  his  own  spirit ;  when  the  swell  of  pas- 


158  Nature. 

sion  seems  to  give  him  a  kind  of  superior  being,  and  to 
endow  him  with  greatness  and  strength ;  when  the 
mere  sense  of  license  raises  him  to  the  clouds ;  when 
mere  excitement  flatters,  and  the  very  breath  of  novelty 
lifts  up.  For  what  lifts  men  up  in  their  own  idea  is 
often  not  anything  they  have  done  themselves,  but 
something  outside  of  them ;  some  spectacle,  some  public 
commotion,  some  public  triumph  ;  the  imagery  of  king- 
doms and  empires,  which  is  raised  up  by  some  event ; 
the  sight  of  multitudes.  These  produce  a  false  swell 
of  inward  exaltation.  The  true  sense  is  produced  by 
high  joys,  which  are  gratifications  of  perceptions  of 
high  objects,  such  as  those  of  creation.  It  attaches 
unconsciously  to  the  act  of  praise — praise  of  goodness 
that  we  know  or  read  of,  and  especially  to  the  highest 
act  of  praise,  when  a  whole  congregation  sings  the 
praise  of  God.  Every  single  member  of  ^the  congrega- 
tion that  joins  with  heart  and  soul  in  such  praise  feels 
himself  raised  by  the  act ;  he  has  the  sense  of  being 
himself  lifted  up  in  it,  and  endowed  with  rank ;  and 
the  ascent  of  the  heart  upwards  is  reflected  upon  him- 
self. 

It  is  thus  that  the  admiration  of  the  beauty  of 
nature  strikes  a  sort  of  balance  with  the  scientific 
analysis  of  nature  in  the  general  efiect  upon  the  reli- 
gious mind  of  an  age.  The  tendency  of  the  analysis  of 
nature  is  to  reduce  the  idea  of  the  Deity  in  men's 
minds  to  a  negation,  and  to  convert  the  First  Great 
Cause  into  a  mere  physical  force.  But  the  admiration 
of  nature  as  a  creation  of  beauty,  on  the  other  hand, 
tends  to  support  the  moral  idea  of  the  Deity,  to  excite 


NatuTe. 


159 


a  curiosity  and  interest  about  His  character,  and  so  far 
to  sustain  the  mystery  of  the  Gospel  disclosure  of  His 
character.  One  and  the  same  age  has  developed,  in  a 
signal  manner,  both  of  these  principles  ;  two  influences 
have  gone  forth  from  it,  and  the  physical  idea  of  nature 
from  analysis,  and  the  mystical  and  imaginative  idea 
from  the  picture,  have  contended  within  its  bosom,  and 
sometimes  within  the  same  minds.  The  impression 
from  the  visible  world,  as  a  chain  of  material  causation, 
has  been  more  or  less  counteracted  and  counterbalanced 
by  the  visible  world  as  a  spiritual  sight.  A  spiritual 
fact  ever  before  us  is  a  spiritual  memento,  and  beauty 
is  a  spiritual  fact,  because  it  altogether  hinges  upon  a 
spiritual  principle  within  us,  and  only  exists  as  an 
address  to  it.  And  so  we  generally  find  that  no  one 
set  of  ideas  is  allowed  to  domineer  and  monopolise 
ground  in  any  age,  but,  when  one  rises  to  power, 
another  is  provided  to  meet  and  check  it. 

But  though  the  outward  face  of  nature  is  a  re- 
ligious communication  to  those  who  come  to  it  with 
the  religious  element  already  in  them,  no  man  can  get 
a  religion  out  of  the  beauty  of  nature.  There  must  be 
for  the  base  of  a  religion,  the  internal  view,  the  inner 
sense,  the  look  into  ourselves,  and  recognition  of  an 
inward  state, — sin,  helplessness,  misery ;  if  there  is 
not  this,  outward  nature  cannot  of  itself  enlighten 
man's  conscience  and  give  him  a  knowledge  of  God. 
It  will  be  a  picture  to  him,  and  nothing  more.  It  is 
an  introspection  on  which  aU  religion  is  built;  the 
Psalms  and  St.  Paul  alike  witness  to  it — man  going 
into  himself  and  seeing  the  struggle  within  him  ;  and 


i6o 


Nature. 


thence  sjettinor  self-knowledue,  and  thence  the  know- 
ledge  of  God. 

I  will  take  the  most  refined  and  intellectual  sense 
of  beauty,  as  inspiring  a  kind  of  religion ;  when  a  man 
who  feels  the  need  of  some  kind  of  religion,  submits 
himself  to  the  influence  of  the  sublime  picture  of 
nature,  goes  about  with  it  everywhere  before  him, 
rests  his  eyes  on  it,  and  yields  himself  like  wax  to  its 
impress,  passively  imbibing  all  the  feeling  which  it 
has  to  impart  to  him.  Here  then  is  a  state  of  mental 
afiection,  which  is  so  far  like  religion  that  it  contrasts 
widely  with  the  life  of  the  man  of  the  world, — its 
selfish  strife  and  ambition,  and  vulgar  trifles.  And  as 
such  a  contrast  it  doubtless  gives  satisfaction  to  the 
contemplative  spirit  who  yearns  for  some  sacrifice, 
and  can  challenge  for  his  special  devotion  that  attri- 
bute of  religion  which  consists  in  being  unworldly. 
Yet  how  far  is  such  an  interest  and  fascination  from 
being  religion  !  and  how  weak  is  outward  nature  com- 
pared with  the  inner  sense  which  has  been  just  men- 
tioned, as  a  power  to  awaken  the  mind,  to  give  it 
spiritual  \agour,  to  bring  out  its  true  instincts  and 
presages,  and  give  force  to  its  vision  !  A  life  of  pas- 
sive admiration  is  but  a  dream,  and  external  Nature  is 
thus  rather  an  enchantress  who  magnetises  the  human 
spirit  than  an  inspirer  into  it  of  energy  and  strength. 
There  is  nothing  prophetic  in  the  spectacle  of  nature, 
as  thus  seen.  It  is  curious  how  men  who,  simply 
from  this  standing  point,  admire  nature,  have  before 
them  perpetually  what  they  themselves  call  a  vision  of 
celestial  beauty,  and  yet  this  celestial  vision  never 


Nature. 


i6i 


points  to  any  real  heaven.  The  scene  of  Nature 
soothes  and  entrances,  and  then  melts  away.  The 
future  is  a  blank,  or  a  dark  enigma  to  them.  So  little 
does  the  glory  of  mere  outward  nature  prophecy.  It 
is  that  inner  sense  alone,  which,  struggling  in  dark- 
ness, under  the  yoke  of  weakness  and  sin,  has,  out  of 
the  conflict  of  a  hidden  war,  pierced  to  the  realms  of 
eternal  day. 

Or  take  the  more  striking  and  conspicuous  case  of 
the  great  Atheistic  poets,  and  what  is  the  issue  of  a 
religion  of  natural  beauty  here  ?  First  discord,  and 
then  despair.  On  the  one  side  is  their  astonishing  in- 
sight into  the  glory  of  the  external  world ;  they  dive 
into  the  very  heart  of  it,  and  are  as  absorbed  in  the 
vision  of  beauty  before  their  eyes  as  if  they  were 
prophets,  whose  minds  had  been  attuned  by  the  Divine 
Creator  Himself  into  sympathetic  union  with  His 
creation ;  such  is  the  power  of  the  Sight  upon  them ; 
on  the  other  hand  is  the  very  spirit  of  blasphemy ;  so 
that  one  moment  they  adore  like  the  cherubim,  in  the 
next  they  cry  out  like  the  vexed  demoniacs,  and  say, 
— "  '  What  have  we  to  do  with  Thee,'  Thou  God  of 
heaven  and  earth  ? "  How  are  we  to  account  for  this 
madness,  for  this  dreadful  schism  in  the  minds  of 
these  men,  which  splits  them,  as  it  were,  in  two 
beings  ?  The  cause  of  this  discord  in  their  own  spirits 
was,  that  they  themselves  cut  nature  into  two,  and  took 
its  beauty  separated  from  its  law.  They  took  the 
picture,  the  external  vision,  without  the  inner  yoke, 
and  divided  the  Spirit  of  Nature  from  the  Divine 
Lawgiver.     They  then   worshipped   the   Spirit  of 


l62 


Nature. 


Nature.  The  poet  stained  his  soul  with  every  sensual 
excess,  but  the  sense  of  beauty  was  his  counterpart  of 
grace ;  it  renewed  and  purified  him ;  he  thought  he 
could  wash  in  its  fount  and  be  clean,  that  he  could 
wipe  off"  his  guilt  as  by  a  baptism ;  he  plunged  into 
it  polluted,  and  rose  up  purified :  so  long  as  he  could 
intensely  admire,  it  was  enough ;  the  act  of  commun- 
ion with  nature  was  his  restoration  and  forgiveness. 
He  sinned,  he  worshipped ;  he  sinned  again,  he  wor- 
shipped again ;  every  time  he  was  absorbed  in  the 
sight  of  Nature,  he  had  been  taken  out  of  himself  and 
exalted  to  heaven.  It  was  the  seal  of  recognition,  and 
for  a  few  short  moments  he  felt  at  peace  with  himself 
and  his  Creator. 

The  passionate  sense  of  beauty  was  thus  the  re- 
ligion of  these  men ;  but  because  they  made  it  their 
religion,  on  that  very  account  it  utterly  dissatisfied 
them.  For  how  was  beauty  itself  to  interpret  the 
other  part  of  nature,  or  the  law  ?  They  came  straight 
from  the  scene  without,  which  fascinated  and  enrap- 
tured them,  to  look  upon  a  dark  struggle  within, 
which  scandalised  them ; .  and  they  had  not  a  single 
reason  in  their  minds — I  will  not  say  to  account  for 
this  yoke  of  weakness  and  misery,  for  nobody  can  do 
that, — but  for  submitting  to  it.  They  were  like  men 
who  were  obliged  to  turn  away  from  some  smiling 
and  luxuriant  landscape  to  look  within  the  bars  of  a 
frightful  dungeon.  The  inner  man  was  simply  a 
dreadful  enigma  to  them  ;  the  strife  within,  which  the 
anostle  describes,  was  regarded  in  the  light  of  an  in- 
supportable grievance,  and  of  a  crime  in  the  constitu- 


Nature. 


163 


tion  of  things.  Had  the  mystery  of  sin  preceded  in 
their  minds  the  glory  of  nature,  they  wouhl  have 
reconciled  the  two  ;  but  coming  from  glory  first,  they 
then  recoiled  and  started  back  from  the  dark  mystery ; 
they  loathed  their  own  image ;  they  could  hardly  be- 
lieve it  was  their  own  likeness ;  then  when  they  saw 
it  was,  they  rebelled.  And  "  who  made  self-contempt," 
one  asked,  taunting  the  Creator.  He  placed  himself 
in  a  dilemma,  for  the  answer  is  obvious, — If  you  think 
this  estimate  of  yourself  untrue,  why  do  you  hold  it  ? 
If  you  think  it  true,  why  do  you  complain  of  it  ?  How 
can  you  convert  sin,  which  you  acknowledge  to  be 
in  yourself,  into  accusation  against  another  ?  But  the 
outward  world  idolised,  spoiled  these  men  for  the  in- 
ward, and  in  anger  they  feU  back  upon  a  Manichean 
God,  who  was  lovely  in  nature  and  unjust  in  man. 

When  men  have  started  from  outward  nature, 
when  they  have  used  it  as  a  foundation,  and  made  it 
their  first  stay,  its  glory  has  thus  issued  in  gloom  and 
despondency ;  but  to  those  who  have  first  made  the 
knowledge  of  themselves  and  their  own  souls  their 
care,  it  has  ever  turned  to  light  and  hoj)e.  They  have 
read  in  Nature  an  augury  and  a  presage ;  they  have 
found  in  it  a  language  and  a  revelation  ;  and  they 
have  caught  in  it  signs  and  intimations  of  Him  who 
has  clothed  Himself  with  it  as  with  a  garment,  who 
has  robed  Himself  with  its  honour  and  majesty,  has 
decked  Himself  with  its  light,  and  who  created  it  as 
an  expression  and  manifestatiou  of  Himself, 


THE  WORK  OF  THE  SPIRIT. 


John  hi.  8. 

"  Tlie  wind  bloweHi  where  it  listeth,  and  thou  hearest  the  sound 
thereof,  hut  canst  not  tell  tchence  it  cometh,  and  whither  it  goeth  : 
so  is  every  one  that  is  horn  of  the  Spirit." 

rpWO  main  characteristics  of  spiritual  religion,  or 
the  religious  temper  which  belong  to  the  dispen- 
sation of  the  Spirit  as  distinguished  from  that  of  the 
law,  are  given  in  Scripture.  One  is,  that  it  resides 
in  the  affections  and  not  only  in  the  conscience. 
"  Being  made  free  from  sin,"  says  St.  Paul,  "  ye  be- 
came the  servants  of  righteousness."  We  are  the 
slaves  of  sin  when  our  inclinations  are  so  strong  on 
the  side  of  sin  that  we  cannot  resist  them.  We  are 
the  slaves  of  righteousness  then  when  our  inclinations 
are  equally  strong  on  the  side  of  good.  The  same 
truth  is  conveyed  in  many  other  forms,  as  where  he 
says,  "  Reckon  ye  also  yourselves  to  be  dead  unto  Sin 
but  alive  unto  God."  Death  unto  sin  implies  utter 
indiflference  and  insensibility  to  the  attractions  of  sin, 
an  absence  of  all  inclination  to  do  what  is  wrong,  as 
distinguished  from  mere  abstinence  on  the  ground  of 
conscience.  The  torpor  and  coldness  of  death  are 
employed  to  represent  the  utter  absence  of  sympathy 


The  Work  of  the  Spirit. 


165 


with  evil  in  the  perfected  soul  which  wants  life  and 
animation  in  this  direction  ;  a  holy  defect  which  con- 
trasts so  strongly  with  the  keen  vicious  sensibilities  of 
the  natural  man,  who  is  in  his  turn  a  mere  corpse  in 
relation  to  good,  wholly  impenetrable  to  its  motives 
and  incapable  of  feeling  its  pleasures.  It  is  constantly 
assumed  in  the  Epistles  that  Christians  are  in  this 
state  of  death  unto  sin  and  life  unto  righteousness. 
They  are  addressed  as  if  they  were  ;  not  of  course  that 
they  all  were  in  point  of  fact,  but  that  this  was  the 
religious  disposition  belonging  to  the  dispensation  of 
the  Spirit,  and  that  those  who  were  under  the  dispen- 
sation were  to  be  supposed  to  have  the  disposition. 
Christians  were  no  longer  under  the  yoke  of  the  law, 
because  their  duty  had  ceased  to  be  a  yoke  imposed 
on  them  from  without,  and  had  become  a  labour  of 
love  in  which  they  delighted.  The  Epistles  abound 
in  expressions  which  describe  the  spiritual  temper  as 
being  of  this  kind— viz.,  as  having  very  much  the  cha- 
racteristics of  what  we  call  a  natural  disposition.  A 
natural  disposition  acts  without  effort  or  formality, 
not  doing  its  work  in  a  set  way,  because  it  is  enjoined, 
and  because  it  is  right ;  but  spontaneously,  and  from 
choice.  The  spiritual  temper  acts  in  the  same  way, 
with  the  freedom  and  unconstrained  manner  of  a  second 
nature.  A  new  birth,  indeed,  is  the  very  name  which 
is  given  to  it. 

This  is  a  test  of  the  superior  or  spiritual  disposi- 
tion, which  approves  itself  to  our  common  sense.  We 
apply  indeed  the  same  criterion  elsewhere.  The  test 
of  true  admiration  is  pleasure — pleasure  in  looking 


1 66  Tfie  Work  of  the  Spirit 


at  tlie  object  or  scene  which  we  admire.  We  are  all 
of  us  acquainted  with  the  state  of  mind  in  which  we 
see  something  to  be  admu'ed  in  a  work  of  art  or  grand 
spectacle  of  nature,  and  yet  cannot  make  ourselves  fed 
It.  We  try  every  means  to  rouse  and  quicken  our 
perceptions,  and  give  warmth  to  them,  but  there  still 
remains,  in  spite  of  all  our  efforts,  only  a  cold  sense  of 
something  grand  or  beautiful  which  stands  obstinately 
on  the  outside  of  our  minds  and  will  not  enter  into 
them.  But  it  is  evident  that  this  is  an  inferior  state 
of  the  intellect ;  because,  if  we  really  and  properly  saw 
the  beauty  we  should  fed  it,  and  therefore  pleasure  is 
the  criterion  of  true  admiration.  The  same  test,  per- 
haps, apphes  in  a  degree  to  other  perceptions  besides 
those  of  taste ;  for  all  truths,  even  the  most  abstract 
and  subtle  truth  in  mathematics  or  metaphysics,  is,  by 
the  very  constitution  of  the  human  mind,  perceived — 
when  it  really  is  perceived  —  with  a  quick  and  pun- 
gent feeling,  which  is  of  the  nature  of  the  highest 
pleasure.  In  the  same  way  the  criterion  of  the  highest 
and  perfect  moral  state  of  mind  is  pleasure, — when 
good  acts  are  not  only  done,  but  when  we  take  plea- 
sure in  doing  them.  We  are  certainly  bound  to  do 
them  whether  we  like  it  or  not ;  and  obedience,  for 
conscience  sake,  which  is  carried  on  against  inclina- 
tion, is  deserving  of  all  praise,  and  is  constantly  urged 
upon  us  in  Scripture  ;  but  it  is  still  an  inferior  moral 
state  compared  with  that  in  which  the  inclinations 
themselves  are  on  the  side  of  good.  For,  looking  int6 
the  real  nature  of  the  case,  we  cannot  but  call  it  a  state 
of  servitude  when  a  man's  affections  do  not  go  along 


on  the  Natural  Man. 


167 


with  his  work,  but  he  suhmits  to  duty  as  a  yoke 
which  a  superior  power  or  hiw  imposes  on  him,  even 
though  that  law  be  revealed  to  him  through  his  own 
conscience. 

It  is  indeed  impossible  that  this  superior  or  spiritual 
state  of  mind,  in  which  inclination  goes  entirely  along 
with  duty,  can  be  fully  attained  by  any  one  in  this 
life.  It  never  can  be  simply  pleasant  to  resist  a  bodily 
appetite,  and  yet  we  have  those  appetites  so  long 
as  we  remain  in  the  flesh,  and  they  have  always  a 
tendency  to  excess,  which  must  be  checked  and  strug- 
gled against.  And  the  same  may  be  said  of  various 
passions  of  the  mind,  which  are  actually  part  of  our 
nature,  and  therefore  cannot  be  got  rid  of ;  which  have 
also  attached  to  them,  and  always  must  have  in  our 
present  state,  the  same  tendency  to  excess.  But  to 
some  extent  this  spiritual  condition  of  mind  may  be 
realised  in  this  life,  because,  if  on  the  one  side  we 
have  appetites  and  passions  which  are  neutral  in  them- 
selves, and  tend  to  inordinateness  in  the  indulgence 
of  them,  we  have  also  on  the  other,  moral  and  spiritual 
affections  which  are  in  themselves  good  ;  so  that,  if 
these  affections  are  properly  developed  in  us,  they  con- 
stitute our  duty  and  our  pleasure  at  the  same  time  : 
our  pleasure,  because  they  are  our  affections  ;  our  duty, 
because  they  are  good  ones.  Take,  for  example  the 
principle  of  compassion  in  our  nature.  Here  is  an 
affection,  the  admirable  and  beautiful  operation  of 
which  is,  that  it  gives  the  person  who  feels  it  pleasure 
even  in  the  very  act  of  ministering  to  and  succouring 
pain.    There  can  be  no  doubt  that  a  compassionate 


i68 


The  Work  of  the  Spirit 


person  derives  a  true  gratification  from  the  exercise  of 
his  afiiection,  and  that  a  sensation  that  comes  within 
the  truest  definition  of  pleasure  is  elicited  in  his  mind 
at  the  very  point  of  contact  with  suffering  in  which 
the  act  of  that  aff"ection  places  him.  Such  being  the 
operation  then  of  the  afiection  of  pity,  one  person  will 
perform  actions  of  charity  and  minister  to  the  relief  of 
others  under  the  positive  influence  of,  and  from  the 
impulse  of  that  afiection  ;  another  will  perform  the 
same  acts,  but  he  will  not  do  them  from  feeling  so 
much  as  from  a  sense  of  duty,  and  because  he  recog- 
nises the  law  which  commands  us  to  relieve  our  dis- 
tressed neighbour.  It  is  evident  that  the  former  is 
the  superior  or  spiritual  state  of  mind,  because  it  is 
the  characteristic  of  the  dispensation  of  the  Spirit  that 
under  it  men  act  from  elevated  afi"ections  and  from 
an  impulse  given  them  within,  and  not  only  from 
obedience  to  a  law.  The  latter,  on  the  contrary,  though 
performing  what  is  acceptable  to  God,  is  still  under  the 
law,  as  acting  from  obedience  to  an  outward  command 
which  is  not  as  yet  identified  with  his  inclinations  and 
feelings,  and,  as  it  were,  incorporated  in  his  nature. 

Though  when  we  say  that  the  spiritual  disposition 
is  like  a  natural  disposition  in  its  mode  of  working,  it 
is  not  meant  that  it  is  no  more  than  a  natural  disposi- 
tion in  substance.  To  take  the  instance  of  compassion 
again — it  is  evident  that  this  afiection,  as  possessed  by 
a  Christian  under  the  new  dispensation,  is  much 
superior  to  the  natural  affection  as  it  would  exhibit 
itself  in  a  heathen.  There  would  be  a  great  difference 
in  the  tone  of  the  affection ;  its  depth  and  refinement 


on  the  Natural  Man. 


corresponding  to  the  immense  difference  in  the  object 
of  it — his  wonderful  nature  and  prospects,  as  disclosed 
by  revelation ;  which  represents  him  as  an  immortal 
being  passing  through  trial  to  another  world,  and  pos- 
sessing a  soul,  as  well  as  a  body  :  a  soul  which  claims 
our  sympathy  with  it  in  its  own  peculiar  sufferings  amid 
those  awful  risks  which  agitate  it,  and  obscure  it  with 
fears,  and  forebodings  and  apprehensions  for  the  future. 

The  second  characteristic  of  the  spiritual  disposi- 
tion, ,  as  described  in  Scripture,  is  quite  in  harmony 
with  the  first,  and  indeed  follows  from  it,  "  Thou  canst 
not  tell  whence  it  cometh."  Besides  what  we  have 
just  spoken  of,  and  what  we  may  call  its  naturalness, 
it  has  an  unhiown  source,  we  cannot  create  it  ourselves 
and  by  our  own  will,  and  that  for  the  very  reason 
that  it  is  this  natural  kind  of  disposition.  For  if  it 
resides  specially  in  the  affections  and  inclinations,  it 
is  plain  these  are  what  we  cannot  produce  in  ourselves 
by  an  effort  of  the  will.  Upon  one  theory,  indeed, 
even  acts  of  the  will  spring  from  an  unknown  source, 
and  even  our  own  wills  are  not  determined  by  our- 
selves ;  but  all  agree  that  we  cannot  make  our  own  feel- 
ings. AVe  can  make  ourselves  perform  certain  acts  by 
an  effort  of  the  will,  but  this  is  a  very  different  thing 
from  making  our  inclinations  go  along  with  them. 
It  is  evident  then  we  do  not  possess  this  power  over 
ourselves.  How  often  indeed  do  we  wish  we  did, 
when  we  know  we  ought  to  feel  something  which  we 
do  not  feel,  when  we  are  conscious  of  doing  somethins: 
coldly  and  indifferently  which  we  ought  to  do  with 
real  heart.    Human  nature  covets  the  possession  of 


170 


The  Work  of  the  Spirit 


feelings,  and  men  strain  after  them,  and  would  fain 
persuade  themselves  that  they  have  them  when  they 
have  not.  They  borrow  from  the  world  of  illusion, 
and  enjoy  emotions  which  fictitious  scenes  have  the 
power  of  raising  within  them  ;  but  when  the  stimulus 
of  illusion  is  withdrawn,  and  that  curious  mechanism 
within  us  stops  which  enables  us  to  appropriate  and 
assimilate  for  the  time  an  external  pathos,  when  they 
are  thrown  back  upon  themselves,  they  find  how  dead 
their  nature  is;  and  how  cold,  awkward,  and  artificial,  at 
the  very  next  call  of  real  life  upon  it,  is  the  mind  which 
was  just  now  feeling  intensely  upon  a  borrowed  basis. 

Axe  we  then  to  stop  here ;  to  say  that  our  afiections 
are  simply  out  of  our  power,  and  that  if  we  have  them 
it  is  well,  if  not  we  cannot  help  it  ?  To  leave  the 
subject  standing  thus  would  be  far  from  satisfactory, 
and  would  hardly  be  in  accordance  with  the  exhorta- 
tions in  Scripture  to  strive  after  the  spiritual  disposi- 
tion and  good  afi"ections,  as  if  they  were  in  some 
way  connected  with  our  wills,  and  our  use  of  them. 
It  is  evident  that  we  want  then  some  distinction  here, 
to  enable  us  to  reconcile  an  apparent  discrepancy  and 
fill  up  the  obvious  void  which  is  left  in  this  matter  of 
obtaining  afiection. 

The  first  explanation  to  which  we  have  recourse  is 
the  simple  doctrine  of  habits — that  although  we  can- 
not by  an  efi"ort  of  the  will  produce  an  afi"ection  or 
inclination  at  the  time,  a  succession  of  such  acts  will 
at  last  produce  it ;  that  it  is  of  the  nature  of  habit  to 
make  acts  easier  and  easier,  till  what  was  at  first  dis- 
tasteful at  last  becomes  pleasant.    But  although  this 


on  the  Nattiral  Man. 


is  a  good  explanation  of  certain  results  in  morals  there 
appears  to  be  a  point  in  which  it  fails  in  the  present 
case,  and  that  just  the  turning-point.  For  is  it  true 
that  habit,  solely  and  of  itself,  does  even  produce  posi- 
tive inclination  or  affection?  undoubtedly  habit  is  a 
great  facilitating  principle,  making  the  will  perform 
certain  acts  more  easily  and  as  a  matter  of  course, 
which  at  first  it  did  with  difficulty ;  but  what  is  the 
actual  nature  and  composition  of  the  habit  when  it  is 
formed  ?  The  act  which  is  facilitated  by  repetition  is 
not,  by  the  very  supposition,  an  act  of  feeling  or 
affection  properly  speaking,  otherwise  it  would  not 
have  needed  an  acquired  facility  at  all.  It  is  an  act 
of  self-control  by  which  the  mind  forces  itself  to  do  a 
particular  thing  in  spite  of  a  disinclination  to  do  it. 
But  this  act,  let  it  be  ever  so  often  repeated  and 
facilitated  by  repetition,  can  never  become  a  feeling, 
but  must  always  remain  in  substance  what  it  was  to 
begin  with — an  act  of  self-control— only  made  easier 
instead  of  more  difficult ;  it  cannot  pass  into  another 
thing  from  what  it  was  at  first.  But  though  acquired 
habit  is  not  strictly  speaking  in  itself  of  the  nature  of 
a  feeling  or  affection,  it  has  a  connection  and  an  im- 
portant one  with  the'due  growth  of  the  feelings,  in  this 
way — that  it  removes  obstructions  which  stand  in  the 
way  of  their  coming  out  and  obtaining  their  proper 
place  in  the  character.  There  is  undoubtedly  a  root 
of  love  at  the  bottom  of  the  human  heart,  which  it  has 
received  from  God,  and  which  only  requires  the  re- 
moval of  the  pressure  of  other  matter  upon  it  to  bring 
it  out  as  the  true  part  of  the  man.    But  there  is  too 


172 


The  Work  of  the  Spirit 


apt  to  be  an  immense  pressure  upon  it,  as  we  can 
plainly  see.  There  is  the  pressure  upon  it  of  selfish 
aims  and  desires  of  all  kinds,  low  cares,  jealousies, 
enmities,  and  the  general  agitation  of  worldly  life. 
It  is  impossible  that  this  implanted  feeling,  or  love,  can 
come  out  as  a  real  force  and  power  in  our  nature  so 
long  as  it  is  overwhelmed  and  crushed  by  a  mixed 
mass  of  secular  and  indifferent  motives  which  occupy 
the  whole  mind  ; — while  the  mind  is  a  prey  to  every 
malicious  thought  that  takes  hold  of  it,  to  envious 
thoughts,  to  irritation,  to  mean  propensities,  covetous- 
ness,  bodily  appetites,  selfish  ease  and  indolence.  There 
must  be  acts  of  the  will  to  resist  this  adverse  occupation 
of  the  mind,  to  remove  these  bad  feelings  and  passions  ; 
then,  in  proportion  as  the  ground  clears,  and  room  is 
given  to  the  good  ones,  these  good  feelings  and  affec- 
tions have  a  natural  tendency  of  their  own  to  come  up 
and  take  possession  of  the  vacant  sj)ace.  It  is  because 
the  good  part  of  our  nature  has  been  kej^t  down  by  a 
weight  upon  it  that  it  has  not  acted ;  it  begins  to  act 
as  soon  as  the  weight  upon  it  is  removed,  and  it  is 
allowed  to  rise.  Thus,  though  it  is  true  that  we  can- 
not make  ourselves  feel  at  the  time  by  an  act  of  the 
will,  acts  of  the  will  do  eventually — not  create  feeling, 
indeed,  for  feeling  is  a  divine  gift — but  elicit  it  and 
bring  it  into  play,  by  removing  the  obstructions  to  it. 
And  thus  the  formation  of  habits  will  in  the  end 
practically  be  the  growth  of  feeling  too.  And  this  is 
the  relation  in  which  the  doctrine  of  habits,  in  ethics, 
will  stand  to  the  doctrine  of  good  and  holy  affections 
as  the  basis  of  the  character  laid  down  in  the  new 


071  the  Natural  Man. 


173 


Dispensation.  The  formation  of  habits  by  acts  of  the 
will  against  inclination  is  indeed  the  working  of  the 
law  by  which  the  mind  is  prepared  for  a  higher  state, 
in  which  feeling,  and  inclination  itself  moves  it  to  good ; 
that  feeling  being  moreover,  now  that  God  has  called 
it  forth  by  His  preparatory  grace,  quickened  and  raised 
by  the  direct  impulses  of  the  Holy  Spirit. 

The  way  in  which  feeling  or  inclination  is  obtained 
thus  bears  perhaps  some  analogy  to  the  way  in  which 
knowledge  is  obtained.  It  is  a  common  remark  that, 
in  difficult  matters  especially,  we  do  not  obtain  know- 
ledge at  the  actual  time  of  study  and  investigation ; 
I  mean  that  the  point  of  view  which  solves  a  difficulty, 
that  first  act  of  insight  which  makes  us  conscious  that 
we  have  exchanged  ignorance  for  knowledge,  does  not 
perhaps  ordinarily  come  at  the  exact  time  when  we  are 
laboriously  examining  a  subject.  Every  student  knows 
the  immense  powers  of  passive  resistance  in  a  subject, 
how  barren  and  fruitless  even  long  periods  of  applica- 
tion often  are,  how  insoluble  the  knot  remains,  and  how 
obstinately  stationary  thought  continues  amid  constant 
restless  efforts  to  advance.  But  these  barren  periods 
are  not  mere  wastes,  and  are  not  without  their  fruit, 
though  it  does  not  come  at  the  time.  Somehow  or 
other,  the  mind  subsequently  finds  itself  cleared,  and 
able  to  see  its  way  better ;  and  the  insight  it  wants  is 
apt  to  come  almost  without  trouble,  and  by  a  kind  of 
impulse  when  it  does  come.  It  would  seem  that 
there  was  some  great  obstruction  to  the  intellect 
which  had  to  be  removed  by  a  sort  of  blind  struggle 
before  an  opening  to  the  light  could  be  obtained.  One 


174 


The  Work  of  the  Spirit 


writer,  to  explain  such  cases,  has  supposed  a  law  by 
which,  after  the  intellect  has  been  once  put  in  vehement 
motion  by  great  efforts,  an  unconscious  working  of  the 
instrument  takes  place,  so  that  an  actual  growth  or 
process  of  mind  is  going  on  within  us,  of  which  we  are 
not  aware,  of  which  light  or  knowledge  is  the  result. 
So  subtle  an  hypothesis  at  any  rate  witnesses  to  a 
curious  phenomenon  to  be  accounted  for,  which  is  in- 
deed by  no  means  rare,  but  a  very  common  one.  It 
is  a  part  of  even  the  schoolboy's  experience,  who  is 
surprised  at  finding  difl&culties  clear  up  themselves  as 
it  were,  after  much  hard  work  which  was  at  the  time 
barren.  This  appears  indeed  to  be  the  ordinary  way  in 
which  knowledge  does  come  to  us.  If  there  is  no  ex- 
act analogy  this  will  serve  at  least  as  an  illustration  of 
the  way  in  which  a  good  inclination  rises  up  in  a  man, 
and  love  takes  the  place  of  a  mere  sense  of  duty.  The 
Law  is  a  schoolmaster  to  bring  us  to  Christ.  And  this 
is  a  point  of  view  which  singularly  ennobles  and 
elevates  a  great  deal  of  hard  and  dry  discipline  which 
appeared  to  the  person  to  do  nothing  at  the  time,  and 
to  raise  no  feeling  or  warmth  in  him.  This  barren 
work  had  all  along  a  latent  fruitfulness,  and  was  only 
separated  by  an  interval  from  its  prize.  When  we 
look,  for  example,  at  the  condition  of  the  poor,  who  are 
so  peculiarly  connected  in  Scripture  with  the  new  dis- 
pensation, and  see  the  quantity  of  dry  discipline 
their  hard  life  imposes  on  them,  attended  by  nothing 
whatever  inspiring  ;  and  requiring  simply  endurance, 
we  are  enabled  to  see  a  promise  in  all  this  labour  — 
a  promise  of  brightness. 


on  the  Natural  Man. 


175 


Such  a  rule,  however,  as  that  love  or  feeling  follows 
in  a  certain  proportion  to  acts  of  the  will,  would  not 
profess  to  contain  the  whole  truth  on  this  mysterious 
subject.  For,  not  to  go  into  the  question  what  acts  of 
the  will  themselves  spring  from,  with  which  we  are  not 
concerned  in  the  present  inquiry.  Scripture  appears 
in  many  parts  to  represent  the  growth  of  the  spiritual 
principle  or  love  in  the  human  heart  as  the  pure  work 
of  the  Holy  Spirit,  in  a  sense  rather  contrasted  with 
acts  of  the  will  being  the  cause  which  brings  it  out. 
Nor  ought  we  to  attempt  to  explain  away  the  natural 
meaning  of  this  part  of  Scripture  language  which  agrees, 
indeed,  as  we  can  hardly  help  observing,  with  some 
remarkable  facts  in  the  world  of  human  character 
around  us.  I  do  not  see  why  we  should  object  to 
admit — what  even  the  religious  thought  of  heathens 
had  no  reluctance  to  allow — that  some  persons  are,  even 
in  point  of  character,  if  we  may  use  the  expression, 
favourites  of  heaven.  Some  persons  certainly  appear 
to  have  a  nature  richer  in  good  than  others,  and  to 
have  that  well  of  spiritual  water  deeper;  that  is  to 
say,  there  is  a  difference  which  we  cannot  wholly  ac- 
count for  by  acts  of  the  will.  In  some  even  this 
strength  of  the  spiritual  affections  apj^ears  to  clear  the 
way  for  them  altogether  from  the  first.  I  mean,  that 
some  persons  certainly  exhibit  from  the  first  dawn  of 
their  existence  as  moral  agents,  a  spiritual  type  that 
is  not  only  a  law  written  in  their  hearts,  but  an  im- 
planted goodness  and  beauty  of  character  which  carries 
them  instinctively  to  that  good  which  others  reach 
only  by  many  struggles  and  perhaps  many  falls.  Such 


1 76  The  Work  of  the  Spirit 


have  many  of  us  seen — sometimes  in  humble  life,  faith- 
ful and  devoted,  loyal  to  man  and  full  of  melody  in 
their  hearts  to  God,  their  life  one  act  of  praise ;  some- 
times in  a  higher  sphere,  living  amid  the  pride  of  life, 
but  wholly  untouched  by  its  spells ;  free  and  unen- 
snared  souls,  that  have  never  been  lighted  up  by  the 
false  lights  and  aspirations  of  human  life,  or  been 
fascinated  by  the  evil  of  the  world,  though  sympathis- 
ing with  all  that  is  good  in  it,  and  enjoying  it  becom- 
ingly ;  who  give  us,  so  far  as  human  character  now 
can  do,  an  insight  into  the  realms  of  light,  the  light 
that  comes  from  neither  sun  nor  moon,  but  from  Him 
who  is  the  light  everlasting.  Some  such,  perhaps,  have 
some  of  us  seen,  and  watched  their  course  even  up  to 
that  time  when  the  tabernacle  which  veiled  the  spirit 
dissolved,  and  left  us  wondering ; — and  tracking  the 
line  of  light  left  on  our  memory.  How  or  why  have 
these  victors  gained  their  crowns  without  the  dis- 
figurement and  alloy  of  that  struggle  which  leaves  its 
stamp  on  so  many  ?  We  know  not.  It  is  a  mystery 
to  us.  But  we  must  recognise  the  fact  that  it  does 
please  the  Almighty  to  endow  some  of  his  creatures 
from  the  first  with  extraordinary  graces.  It  may  be 
partly  perhaps  to  show  us  what  goodness  is  in  its 
most  admirable  form, — in  the  form  that  is,  in  which 
it  will  exist  in  another  world ;  that  of  the  real  nature 
of  the  man.  Those  who  acquire  goodness  by  much 
struggle  and  efibrt  have  their  high  merit,  but  it  must 
be  admitted  that  they  do  not  always  show  goodness 
ofi"  to  the  best  advantage  ;  it  is  apt  to  be  defective  in 
the  '  amabile  quiddam;'  to  betray  too  much  in  them  the 


on  the  Natural  Man. 


177 


machinery  of  its  growth,  and  to  be  in  some  degree 
formal  or  artificial  in  tone ;  but  another  kind  of  for- 
mation more  immediately  from  above  corrects  the  im- 
pression, and  reveals  in  some  degree  what  virtue  is  in 
its  natural  and  eternal  form.  And  let  us,  on  this  day, 
which  is  dedicated  to  the  praise  of  the  Holy  Spirit, 
and  celebrates  the  commencement  of  His  great  dispen- 
sation, thank  Him  for  these  admirable  creations  of  His, 
the  saints  who  exhibit  His  own  immediate  handy  work, 
by  the  sight  of  whom  He  designs  to  teach  and  to  in- 
spirit us. 

Again,  from  striking  cases  of  implanted  goodness, 
we  may  pass  to  a  Divine  gift  which  is  more  generally 
bestowed.  We  find  ourselves  surrounded  by  the 
greatest  variety  of  character  in  the  world,  and  even 
the  varieties  of  good  character  are  almost  infinite,  no 
one  good  person  being  perhaps  exactly  like  another. 
Such  variety,  however  much  difference  of  education 
and  circumstances  may  contribute  to  it,  must  be  due 
in  some  degree  to  an  original  and  implanted  difi"erence 
in  minds  and  constitutions.  This  propriety  then,  or 
characteristic  in  the  individual,  which  he  receives 
from  a  Divine  source,  is  a  sacred  deposit  with  him 
to  be  done  justice  to,  and  guarded  and  developed 
naturally,  and  not  to  be  submitted  to  any  Procrus- 
tean process,  even  of  disciplinarian  moulding,  which 
others  may  dictate  to  him.  Different  duties,  tasks, 
positions  in  life,  suit  different  minds,  according  to 
their  original  type  or  cast.  It  is  no  liberty,  but 
proper  prudence  and  proper  self-respect  for  persons  to 
feel  their  way  independently  toward  such  a  line  of 

N 


178 


The  Work  of  ihc  Spirit 


life  and  duty  as  agrees  with  this  original  propriety  of 
constitution.  We  are  not  bound,  indeed,  to  be  ac- 
curately acquainted  with,  and  conscious  of,  our  own 
type,  and  the  habit  of  contemplating  ourselves  is  hardly 
to  be  encouraged  ;  still  persons,  if  they  are  only  true  to 
themselves,  instinctively  know  to  some  extent  what 
suits  their  character  and  what  does  not,  and  have  an 
insight  into  their  proper  and  genuine  capabilities ;  and 
by  following  up  this  insight  and  allowing  it  to  direct 
them  to  a  suitable  mode  of  life  and  course  of  action, 
they  preserve  the  truth  and  characteristic  stamp  of 
their  own  nature. 

It  is  indeed  this  original  propriety  or  root  within  us, 
which,  whilst  it  is  a  Divine  gift,  is  at  the  same  time 
most  ourselves — this  pre-eminently  constitutes  the 
man,  and  unites  in  itself  opposites,  that  which  comes 
most  from  without  and  most  from  within  at  the  same 
time.  The  preservation  of  it  is  the  only  security  for 
the  continuance  of  what  is  most  precious  and  sterling 
in  character.  For  though  we  should  not  deprive  any 
form  of  conscientious  life  of  its  praise,  it  is  difficult  to 
believe  that  there  is  not  something  morally  as  well  as 
intellectually  defective  in  the  act  of  one  man  giving 
himself  up  to  be  moulded  by  another; — that  such  an  act 
is  not  feeble,  below  the  level  of  our  nature,  and  unjust 
to  the  design  of  our  creation.  And  though  those  who 
'  adopt  this  step,  and  attach  themselves  to  an  absorbing 
system  which  makes  life  a  course  of  formal  taskwork, 
without  room  for  choice  or  play  of  "wdll,  may  honestly 
appear  to  themselves  to  be  choosing  the  highest  form  of 
humility  and  self-denial,  such  a  plan  of  life  does  not 


on  the  Natural  Mait. 


179 


appear  to  produce  the  strong  moral  fi1)re  that  other  more 
natural  forms  of  probation  well  sustained  do ;  not  to 
say  that  it  is  singularly  apt  to  become  a  prey  to  many 
littlenesses,  and  especially  to  a  certain  childish  form  of 
pharisaism  ;  a  poor  issue  indeed  of  a  well -intended 
scheme  of  life. 

This  observation  of  what  is  original  and  charac- 
teristic in  men,  suggests  too  a  reflection  with  respect 
to  the  use  of  imitation.  We  are  doubtless  to  imitate 
others  so  far  as  they  possess  moral  qualities  which  are 
of  general  and  common  service.  Example  is  in  this 
sense  of  the  highest  use  ;  and  such  imitation  does  not 
in  the  least  interfere  with  the  natural  character  of  the 
copier,  who  can  engraft  in  perfect  agreement  these 
common  qualities  upon  the  individual  stock ;  but  to 
imitate  persons  as  such,  their  particular  type  or  char- 
acter, is  to  fail  injustice  to  ourselves.  There  is  nothing 
to  be  gained  by  such  imitation,  for  after  all  we  can- 
not make  ourselves  other  persons.  That  peculiar 
character  which  we  admire  in  another  would  become 
quite  a  different  one  in  ourselves  could  we  achieve  the 
most  successful  imitation.  The  copy  could  never  have 
the  spirit  of  the  original,  because  it  would  want  the 
natural  root  upon  which  the  original  grew.  We  ought 
to  grow  out  of  our  own  roots  ;  our  own  inherent  pro- 
priety of  constitution  is  the  best  nucleus  for  our  own 
formation.  This  fitness,  whatever  it  be,  whether  a 
higher  or  a  humbler  one,  is  the  gift  of  the  Holy  Spirit, 
which  we  must  stir  up  and  bring  to  maturity.  In  the 
cultivation  of  the  intellect  certainly,  persons  make 
great  mistakes  from  not  finding  out  what  their  natural 


i8o  The  Work  of  the  Spirit 

talent  really  is  ;  sometimes  even  supposing  it  to  be  the 
opposite  of  what  it  is,  because  the  desire  to  imitate 
some  gifted  man,  who  has  been  made  a  prominent 
object  in  their  eyes,  has  made  them  inattentive  to  the 
composition  of  their  own  minds ;  and  something  an- 
alogous to  it  appears  to  be  the  case  in  morals. 

In  conclusion,  there  is  a  qualification  which  has 
already  been  referred  to,  and  which  certainly  ought 
not  to  be  lost  sight  of  whenever  that  characteristic  of 
the  dispensation  of  the  Spirit  is  placed  before  us,  which 
has  been  the  subject  of  this  discourse  ;  viz.,  its  making 
an  inclination  within,  and  not  a  law  from  without,  the 
basis  of  the  religious  life.    It  is  not  to  be  supposed 
that  such  a  high  state  of  mind  as  this  can  be  realised  to 
the  full  in  this  life.   We  must  not  be  so  unjust,  indeed, 
to  the  present  operation  of  the  Holy  Spirit  as  not  to 
acknowledge  that  many  Christians  do  show  in  a  con- 
siderable measure  the  stamp  of  the  dispensation  of  the 
Spirit,  that  they  serve  God  and  do  works  of  righteous- 
ness from  heart  and  inclination,  and  because  their 
affections  are  enlisted  on  the  side  of  what  is  holy  and 
good.     But  the  truth  must  be  admitted,  that  many 
who  belong  visil)ly  to  the  dispensation  of  the  Spirit, 
are  still  inwardly  under  the  Law  in  this  sense,  that 
their  inclinations  are  not  yet  on  the  side  of  God's 
service,  and  that,  if  they  perform  their  duty  in  any 
degree,  it  is  only  in  obedience  to  a  law,  of  the  penalties 
of  which  they  stand  in  just  and  proper  fear,  but  not 
on  the  spiritual  principles  of  love.    Indeed,  are  not  all 
Christians,  whatever  advance  they  may  have  made,  to  a 
great  extent  still  under  the  law  in  this  sense,  that  their 


on  the  Natural  Man. 


i8i 


affections  are  not  yet  wholly  set  upon  things  above, 
that  there  is  much  in  their  own  minds  against  which 
they  have  to  fight,  and  that  duty  is  still  a  struggle  and 
an  efibrt  to  them.  The  new  heart  and  the  new  spirit 
is  the  promise  indeed  of  the  Gospel,  but  that  pro- 
mise is  only  fulfilled,  as  some  other  Divine  promises 
are,  with  an  accommodation  to  those  drawbacks  and 
obstacles  which  the  heart  of  man  itself  presents  to 
the  complete  fulfilment.  There  is  some  characteristic 
frailty  at  the  bottom  of  every  human  heart  whose  hold 
may  have  been  loosened,  but  which  does  not  yet  move 
before  the  influence  of  grace.  It  remains  even  in  emi- 
nent servants  of  God,  and  impedes  the  freedom  of  their 
service,  making  it  often  a  severe  and  an  irksome  task. 

And  this  consideration  afi"ects  the  question  of  the 
language  which  Christians  may  lawfully  use  about 

I  themselves  and  their  own  possession  of  spiritual  graces. 
We  may  observe  a  tendency  sometimes  in  persons  of 
zeal  and  forwardness  in  religion  to  suppose  that  they 
can  speak  highly  of  their  own  spiritual  gifts  and  "graces, 
provided  they  do  it  with  thankful  acknowledgment 
that  this  goodness  is  the  work  of  grace  in  them,  and 

I  received  from  the  Holy  Spirit.  But  this  is  surely  a  very 
hazardous  and  inconsistent  use  to  which  they  turn  the 
dispensation  of  the  Spirit,  to  use  it  as  enabling  persons 
to  speak  highly  of  their  own  state.  Self  abasement, 
as  illustrated  by  the  parable  of  the  sanctified  Publican, 
and  the  Guest  at  the  feast,  is  specially  and  peculiarly 
the  law  of  the  Gospel.  But  it  is  not  a  sufiicient  ful- 
filment of  this  law  that  a  person  should  speak  to  the 
fact  of  his  own  eminent  graces,  only  appending  the 


l82 


The  Work  of  the  Spirit. 


recognition  of  Divine  power  as  the  cause  of  them. 
The  great  test  of  humility  is  our  estimate  of  the  fact 
of  our  condition.  If  this  estimate  is  high,  then  to 
whatever  origin  we  may  attribute  it,  we  do  not  prac- 
tically fulfil  the  law  of  self-abasement  laid  down  in 
the  Gospel,  Rather  it  is  founding  a  species  of  self 
righteousness  on  this  very  law. 

There  is  perhaps  a  natural  tendency  in  men  of 
enthusiastic  minds  to  assume  (and  this  for  their  party 
and  school  as  well  as  for  themselves)  too  high  a 
spiritual  growth,  because  they  can  call  it  a  spiritual 
growth  and  not  a  legal  one,  inducing  a  great  luxuri- 
ance, and  a  want  of  due  sincerity  and  truth  in  esti- 
mates ;  all  because  there  is  this  salvo  as  to  the  source 
of  gifts.  The  proper  safeguard  against  these  preten- 
sions which  advance  unconsciously  in  the  mind  is  a 
strict  attention  to  facts — those  serious  facts  which  so 
much  limit  the  new  heart  and  the  new  spirit  as  actu- 
ally possessed  in  this  life — the  deep  faults  of  character 
which  appear  to  survive  all  present  influence  of  the 
Holy  Spirit,  the  confession  of  which  can  alone  in  any 
sense  neutralise  them.  These  are  serious  things  to 
think  of,  and  the  recollection  of  them  should  subdue 
this  spirit  of  self-congratulation.  Let  men  remember 
what  they  really  are,  and  see  themselves  as  they  are. 
See  how  much,  even  when  they  have  attained  to  a 
sense  of  spiritual  things,  old  faults  go  on,  only  under 
new  shapes ;  how  little  way  they  have  made  in  truly 
spiritual,  unselfish  aficctions  and  inclinations  ;  and  how 
little,  in  any  important  sense,  they  have  advanced  be- 
yond the  Law,  even  while  they  live  under  the  Gospel 


THE  ATONEMENT. 


Hebrews  x.  5. 

"  Sacrifice  and  offering  thou  wouldest  not,  hut  a  body  heist 
thou  2)repared  me." 

TT  must  strike  any  person,  as  something  that  wants 
accounting  for,  how  it  is  that  a  doctrine  which  has 
called  forth  the  moral  affections  of  man  so  strongly, 
and  presented  so  sublime  and  transcendent  an  object 
for  them,  as  that  of  the  Atonement  has,  should  of  all 
criticisms  in  the  world  be  specially  subjected  to  the 
charge  of  being  an  immoral  doctrine.  It  is  based,  it  is 
said,  upon  injustice.  Had  the  Christian  body  then, 
simply  accepted  this  doctrine  in  a  neutral  sjDirit,  or 
with  a  respectful  indifference,  this  charge  might  not 
have  seemed  so  strange,  but  if  it  has  won  human  hearts, 
and  appealed  to  the  highest  moral  feelings,  such  an 
estimate  is  perplexing.  And  it  must  be  noted  that 
injustice  is  of  all  immoralities  not  the  one  most  easily 
condoned.  It  creates  boundless  hatred,  and  those 
who  commit  it  themselves  have  the  greatest  objection 
to  it  in  others.  There  can  hardly  be  said  to  be  a  more 
unpopular  vice.  What  can  be  the  reason  of  this 
extraordinary  discord  in  the  estimate  of  this  doctrine  ? 
Is  it  not  that  the  Christian  body  has  taken  the  doc- 


The  Atonement. 


trine  as  a  whole,  with  all  the  light  which  the  different 
elements  of  it  tlirow  uj^on  each  other,  while  the  objec- 
tion has  only  fixed  on  one  element  in  the  doctrine, 
abstracted  from  the  others.  The  point  upon  which 
the  objector  has  fixed  is  the  substitution  of  one  man 
for  another  to  sufier  for  sin ;  but  he  has  not  taken 
this  point  as  it  is  represented  and  interpreted  in  the 
doctrine  itself,  but  barely  and  nakedly,  simply  as  the 
principle  of  vicarious  punishment.  Thus  stated  then 
— that  one  man  can  be  guilty  of  the  crime,  and  another 
punished  in  his  stead,  that  a  criminal  can  sufier  penalty 
by  deputy,  and  have  sentence  executed  upon  him  by 
substitute,  this  notion  of  justice  is  a  barbarous  and 
untenable  one.  We  cannot  say  that  God  could,  agree- 
ably with  his  moral  attributes,  be  satisfied  with  the 
punishment  of  an  innocent  man  in  simple  exchange 
for  the  punishment  of  a  guilty  one — that  his  justice 
could  possibly  regard  punishment  apart  from  the 
person  to  whom  it  is  due ;  be  appeased  by  pain  as 
such,  without  reference  to  the  bearer  of  it ;  and  be 
contented,  so  long  as  it  was  suffered,  that  another 
than  the  criminal  should  be  the  sufferer.  We  could  not 
admit  such  an  idea  as  this  into  our  own  moral  nature, 
and  therefore  cannot  assign  such  a  principle  of  action 
to  God.  It  is  to  be  observed  that,  according  to  this 
idea  of  sacrifice  for  sin,  it  is  not  in  the  least  necessary 
the  sacrifice  should  be  voluntary,  because  the  whole 
principle  of  sacrifice  is  swallowed  up  in  the  idea  of 
vicarious  punishment ;  and  punishment,  vicarious  or 
other,  does  not  require  a  voluntary  sufferer,  but  only 
a  sufferer.    The  victim  may  be  willing  or  unwilling ; 


The  Atonemetit. 


185 


it  matters  not,  so  long  as  he  is  a  victim ;  he  endures 
agony  or  death  in  fact,  and  that  is  all  that,  upon  the 
principle  of  mere  substitution,  is  wanted.  It  was  this 
low  and  degraded  idea  of  sacrifice  which  had  posses- 
sion of  the  ancient  world  for  so  many  ages,  and  which 
produced,  as  its  natural  fruit,  human  sacrifices,  with  all 
the  horrible  and  revolting  cruelties  attending  them. 
For,  indeed,  it  was  impossible  that  an  idea  of  sacrifice, 
which  simply  demanded  a  substituted  person's  sufier- 
ing;  which  assumed  that  the  more  sufiering  there 
was  the  more  expiation  there  was,  and  which  did  not 
care  the  least  whether  that  sufiering  was  voluntary  or 
involuntary ;  it  was  impossible  that  this  idea  of  sacri- 
fice could  rest  contented  with  brutes  as  the  victims. 
The  blood  of  bulls  or  of  goats  sufiiced  for  the  Mosaic 
law,  because  the  atonements  of  that  law  were  only 
typical  and  figurative  ;  but  assume  that  the  sacrifices  of 
mere  substitution  really  take  away  sin,  and  then  they 
will  go  farther.  They  did  go  farther  :  they  proceeded 
to  claim  men.  Brutes  were  comparatively  free  from  the 
power  of  suffering ;  their  ignorance  and  want  of  reason 
protected  them ;  they  could  not  foresee  their  fate,  and 
were  led  up  unconscious  to  the  altar,  only  to  receive  at 
one  stroke  their  sentence  and  their  release.  But 
human  beings  could  suffer ;  they  could  suffer  because 
they  could  foresee,  and  therefore  their  sacrifice  was  the 
more  availing  and  the  more  powerful  in  proportion  as 
it  was  the  more  dreadful.  Thus  human  sacrifices 
became  a  general  institution  over  the  ancient  world, 
and  the  page  of  history  is  stained  by  the  dark  acts  of 
that  remorseless  superstition — though  not  indeed  with- 


The  Atonement. 


out  a  protest  from  the  higli  thought  even  of  pagans. 
Ancient  poetry  mourned  the  Virgin  of  Aulis,  and 
echoed,  age  after  age,  with  ever  fresh  compassion,  the 
sad  strain,  knowing  how  it  would  appeal  to  all  human 
hearts ; — the  image  of  the  tender  daughter  of  the  royal 
house,  dragged  by  men's  hands  trembling  to  the  altar, 
speechless,  except  with  the  piteous  glance  of  her  eyes, 
with  which  she  smote  her  sacrificers. 

But  we  must  remark  that  for  the  great  develop- 
ment of  the  idea  of  atonement,  understood  nakedly  as 
vicarious  punishment,  we  have  to  go  to  the  new 
world.  When  the  Spaniards  conquered  Mexico  they 
found  a  gigantic  and  elaborate  system  of  human  sacri- 
fices which  exceeded  all  that  had  appeared  in  history. 
The  annual  ceremonies  of  sacrifice  consumed  several 
days,  and  the  immolations  of  victims  counted  not  by 
thousands  but  by  tens  of  thousands.  It  was  the  func- 
tion of  the  Mexican  government,  and  devolved  upon 
what  may  be  called  the  Home  OflSce,  to  expiate  the 
sins  of  the  whole  population  of  Mexico ;  and  so  radi- 
cally was  the  sacrificial  system  made  a  state  object, 
that  it  afiected  even  the  foreign  policy  of  the  empire ; 
and  Montezuma,  when  he  was  asked  by  the  Spanish 
general  why  he  had  omitted  to  conquer  a  certain  inde- 
pendent republic,  which  was  close  at  hand,  replied, 
that  if  this  State  were  part  of  his  empire  he  could  not 
go  to  war  with  it ;  but  that  he  must  have  captives  of 
war  for  victims  to  his  gods.  The  blood  of  human 
victims  thus  flowed  in  such  torrents  that  not  a  single 
sin  could  escape  expiation  in  the  whole  empire  of 
Mexico,  and  the  monarch,  as  representative  of  the 


TJu  Atonement. 


187 


interests  of  his  subjects,  could  point  to  most  conspicu- 
ous success.  But  it  was  not  only  the  quantity  of  the 
victims,  but  the  refinement  of  the  suffering,  which 
showed  the  fructification  of  the  original  idea  of  atone- 
ment by  simple  substitution.  The  Aztec  ritual  pre- 
scribed upon  solemn  festivals,  with  horrible  exactness, 
the  most  exquisite  preliminary  tortures.  But  the 
pains  of  imagination  were  also  brought  into  requisi- 
tion,— the  agonies  of  a  long  anticipation  and  of  a  fixed 
prospective  period,  during  which  the  victim  lived 
with  the  certainty  of  a  dreadful  death  before  him.  In 
one  special  case  of  annual  sacrifice,  the  victim  was 
solemnly  devoted  a  year  beforehand,  the  day  was 
known,  the  exact  ceremony  and  process  of  the  death 
was  known,  up  to  the  very  moment  when  life  must 
vanish.  But  in  the  meantime  the  victim  lived  sur- 
rounded with  delights, — in  the  most  delicate  and 
refined  luxury,  amidst  the  pomp  of  retinue,  the  sweet- 
ness of  music,  the  fragrance  of  flowers,  and  the  incense 
of  admiring  crowds.  He  lived  in  the  dreadful  mockery 
of  a  kind  of  paradise,  which  he  knew  was  to  give  place 
at  an  appointed  moment  to  the  most  barbarous  death, 
and  in  the  meantime  was  to  heighten,  by  the  contrast 
of  its  present  charms,  the  horror  of  the  close.  Tantum 
religio  potuit  suadere  malorum.  Such  subtlety  of 
cruelty  was  the  issue  of  the  idea  that  a  mere  substi- 
tution could  be  a  sacrifice  for  sin ;  pain,  due  in  justice 
to  one,  be  escaped  by  simple  transference  to  another. 

As  if,  indeed,  the  Almighty  could  ever  possibly  be 
appeased  by  a  struggling  victim,  dragged  up  in 
liorror  and  agony,  to  be  a  sacrifice  for  sin  against  his 


The  Atonement. 


will,  recoiling  at  every  step  from  the  purpose  to  which 
he  was  devoted !  As  if  an  unwilling  sacrifice  for  sin 
could  ever  possibly  he  a  sacrifice  for  sin !  But  this 
idea  was  totally  and  for  ever  extinguished  by  the 
Gospel  idea,  when  it  was  revealed  that  love  was  of  the 
very  essence  of  sacrifice,  and  that  there  could  not  he 
sacrifice  without  will.  A  victim  then  appeared  who 
was  the  real  sacrifice  for  sin.  But  how  surprised 
would  all  those  ofi"erers  of  human  victims  have  been 
had  this  real  human  victim,  the  only  man  who  really 
was  such,  been  pointed  out  to  them.  Here  was  no 
earthly  altar,  no  expiatory  form,  no  visible  priest ; 
nobody  could  have  told,  either  from  his  life  or  from 
his  death,  that  he  was  a  victim ;  He  died  by  the 
natural  course  of  events  as  the  efiect  of  a  holy  and 
courageous  life  operating  upon  the  intense  jealousy  of 
a  class ;  he  died  by  civil  punishment :  and  in  heaven 
that  death  pleaded  as  the  sacrifice  that  taketh  away 
the  sin  of  the  world.  But  that  sacrifice  was  a  willing, 
a  self-offered  sacrifice. 

The  circumstance  then  of  the  victim  being  a  self- 
offered  one,  makes,  in  the  first  place  all  the  difference 
upon  the  question  of  injustice  to  the  victim.  In  common 
life  and  most  human  affairs  the  rule  is  that  no  wrong 
in  justice  is  done  to  one  who  volunteers  to  undertake 
a  painful  office,  which  he  might  refuse  if  he  pleased. 
In  accepting  his  off"er  this  would  not  indeed  always 
apply ;  for  there  might  be  reasons  which  would  make 
it  improper  to  allow  him  to  sacrifice  himself.  But  it 
cannot  be  said  that  it  is  itself  contrary  to  justice  to 
accept  a  volunteer  offer  of  suffering.    Is  it  in  itself 


The  Atonement. 


wrong  that  there  should  be  suffering  which  is  not  de- 
served ?  Not  if  it  is  undertaken  voluntarily,  and  for 
an  important  object.  Upon  the  existence  of  pain  and 
evil  being  presupposed  and  assumed,  there  are  other 
justifications  of  persons  undergoing  it  besides  ill- 
desert.  The  existence  of  pain  or  evil  being  supposed, 
there  arises  a  special  morality  upon  this  fact,  and  in 
connection  with  it.  It  is  the  morality  of  sacrifice. 
Sacrifice  then  becomes,  in  the  person  who  makes  it, 
the  most  remarkable  kind  of  manifestation  of  virtue  ; 
which  ennobles  the  sufferer,  and  which  it  is  no  wrong 
doing  in  the  universe  to  accept. 

But  this  being  the  case  with  respect  to  volun- 
tary sacrifice,  the  Gospel  sacrifice  is,  as  has  been 
said,  specially  a  voluntary  and  self-offered  one.  It 
must  be  remembered  that  the  supernaturalness  of 
the  sphere  in  which  the  doctrine  of  the  Atone- 
ment is  placed,  affects  the  agency  concerned  in  the 
work  of  the  Atonement.  He  who  is  sent  is  one  in 
being  with  Him  who  sends.  His  willing  submission, 
therefore,  is  not  the  willing  submission  of  a  mere  man 
to  one  who  is  in  a  human  sense  another  ;  but  it  is  the 
act  of  one  who,  in  submitting  to  another,  submits  to 
himself.  By  virtue  of  His  unity  with  the  Father,  the 
Son  originates,  carries  on,  and  completes  himself  the 
work  of  the  Atonement.  It  is  His  own  original  will 
to  do  this.  His  own  spontaneous  undertaking.  His  own 
free  and  undictated  choice.  The  peculiar  nature  of 
the  agency  concerned  in  the  act  of  the  Atonement  is 
thus  a  guarantee  to  the  willingness  of  the  victim,  and 
defines  that  willingness  as  being  that  of  a  volunteer 


The  Atonement. 


from  the  first.  And  it  must  be  observed  that  we  have 
nothing  to  do  with  defending  the  mystery  in  the  act 
of  the  Atonement  in  defending  the  justice  of  the  act. 
Upon  the  question  of  the  justice  or  injustice  we  must 
take  the  act  as  it  is  stated  to  be  in  the  account  which 
is  given  of  it,  whether  that  account  belongs  to  the 
natural  or  supernatural  order,  the  intelligible  or  mys- 
terious. 

The  willingness  of  the  sacrifice  has  then  a  very 
clear  result  with  respect  to  the  question  of  justice  as 
regards  the  victim.  But  now  with  regard  to  the  efiect 
of  the  act  of  the  Atonement  upon  the  sinner.  It  will 
be  seen,  then,  that  with  respect  to  this  eflFect  the 
willingness  of  a  sacrifice  changes  the  mode  of  the 
operation  of  the  sacrifice,  so  that  it  acts  on  a  totally 
difierent  principle  and  law  from  that  upon  which  a 
sacrifice  of  mere  substitution  acts.  A  sacrifice  of  mere 
substitution  professes  to  act  upon  a  principle  of  a 
literal  fulfilment  of  justice,  with  one  exception  only, 
which  is  not  thought  to  destroy  but  only  to  modify 
the  literal  fulfilment.  It  is  true  the  sin  is  committed 
by  one  and  the  punishment  is  inflicted  upon  another ; 
but  there  is  sin,  and  there  is  punishment  on  account 
of  sin,  which  is  considered  a  sort  of  literal  fulfilment 
of  justice.  But  a  voluntary  sacrifice  does  not  act 
upon  the  principle  of  a  mock  literal  fulfilment  of 
justice,  but  upon  another  and  totally  different  prin- 
ciple. Its  effect  proceeds  not  from  the  substitution  of 
one  person  for  another  in  punishment,  but  from  the 
influence  of  one  person  upon  another  for  mercy, — a 
mediator  upon  one  who  is  mediated  with. 


The  A tonemeiii. 


191 


Let  us  see  what  it  is  which  a  man  really  means 
when  he  offers  to  substitute  himself  for  another  in 
undergoing  punishment.  He  cannot  possibly  mean  to 
fulfil  the  element  of  justice  literally.  What  he  wants 
to  do  is  to  stimulate  the  element  of  mercy  in  the 
judge.  Justice  is  not  everything  in  the  world ;  there 
is  such  a  thing  as  mercy.  How  is  this  mercy  to  be 
gained,  enlisted  on  the  side  you  want  ?  By  suffering 
yourself.  You  thereby  soften  the  heart  of  the  judge. 
The  judge  only  accej)ts  the  act  as  a  stimulant  to 
mercy ;  it  does  not  occur  to  him  to  accept  it  as  a 
literal  fulfilment  of  justice.  The  judge  has  the  ele- 
ment of  mere}'"  in  him  ;  it  is  drawn  out  of  him  by  the 
mediating  suffering  of  another  person  for  the  guilty 
one. 

The  Gospel  then  puts  before  us  the  doctrine  of  the 
Atonement  in  this  light,  that  the  mercy  of  the  Father 
is  called  out  toward  man  l^y  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ's 
generous  sacrifice  of  Himself  in  behalf  of  man.  Now 
I  have  nothing  to  do  here  with  the  mystery  of  this 
transaction ;  the  question  is  the  morality  of  it — how 
the  act  of  one  person  can  alter  God's  regards  toward 
another.  This  has  given  occasion  to  a  charge  of  im- 
morality against  the  doctrine  of  the  Atonement ;  and 
it  exhibits  God  as  altering  his  feeling  toward  one 
being  in  consequence  of  the  act  of  another.  This  is 
wrong,  it  is  said.  What  has  that  one  person's  act  to 
do  with  another  person  ?  How  can  it  affect  him,  or 
influence  our  regards  toward  him  ? — it  would  be  un- 
just in  God  to  be  affected  by  so  entirely  irrelevant 
a  consideration.    But  it  would  certainly  appear  that 


192 


The  Atonemejtf. 


we  do  ourselves  something  much  akin  to  this  in  our 
relations  toward  others  who  have  done  anything 
wrong ;  and  think  it  natural  and  right  to  do  so. 
It  is  undoubtedly  a  fact  of  our  nature,  however  we 
may  place  or  connect  it,  that  the  generous  suffering  of 
one  person  for  another  affects  our  regards  for  that 
other  person.  It  is  true  that  the  sufferer  for  another, 
and  he  who  is  suffered  for,  are  two  distinct  persons ; 
that  the  goodness  of  one  of  these  persons  is  not  the 
property  of  the  other ;  and  that  it  does  not  affect  our 
relations  toward  another  upon  the  special  principle  of 
justice ;  that,  upon  that  strict  principle,  each  is  what 
he  is  in  himself  and  nothing  more  ;  that  the  suffering 
interceder  has  the  merit  of  his  own  generosity,  the 
criminal  the  merit  of  his  crime  ;  and  that  no  connec- 
tion can  be  formed  between  the  two  on  the  special 
principle  of  justice.  And  yet,  upon  whatever  principle 
it  is,  it  is  a  fact  of  our  nature,  of  which  we  are 
plainly  conscious,  that  one  man's  interceding  suffering 
produces  an  alteration  of  regards  toward  the  other 
man.  Take  even  a  criminal  before  a  judge,  and  sup- 
pose the  fact  just  brought  to  his  notice  that  a  remark- 
able suppliant  for  this  criminal  has  appeared — a  sup- 
pliant so  interested  in  this  person,  so  absorbed  in  his 
pardon,  as  to  be  an  absolute  sacrifice  to  his  own  love, 
so  as  entirely  to  give  himself  up  for  him,  and  offer 
to  undergo  his  death  if  the  other  only  can  escape  : — 
suppose  this,  and  is  there  any  criminal  in  the  world 
that  would  not  be  in  a  way  consecrated  by  such  love  ? 
Does  not  such  love  shed  a  halo,  a  glory,  round  the 
object  of  it  ?    Is  there  any  one  upon  earth  so  vile  but 


The  Atonement. 


193 


that  some  reflection  of  the  virtue  of  such  transcendent 
affection  must  reach  him  ? 

But  it  will  be  said  this  is  true  as  far  as  feeling 
goes,  but  it  is  a  weakness,  a  confessed  weakness ;  this 
impulse  is  not  supported  by  the  wliole  of  the  man. 
Can  you  carry  it  out,  it  may  be  said  ;  can  you  put  it 
into  execution  ?  We  cannot,  for  very  good  reasons, 
that  civil  justice  is  for  civil  objects,  and  in  the  moral 
sphere  final  pardon  is  not  in  our  province.  But  because 
this  particular  impulse  to  pardon  cannot  be  carried  out 
or  put  into  execution,  it  is  not  therefore  a  weakness. 
It  is  something  true  and  sincere  which  speaks  in  our 
nature,  though  it  cannot  be  embraced  in  its  full  bear- 
ings and  in  its  full  issue.  Even  if  it  is  a  fragment,  it 
is  a  genuine  fragment.  It  exists  in  us  as  a  true 
emotion  of  the  mind,  a  fact  of  our  true  selves  ;  it 
is  a  fact  of  nature,  in  the  correct  and  high  sense  of  the 
word.  It  is  not  disclaimed  upon  appeal ;  it  stands  its 
ground  ;  nor,  because  it  is  a  fragment,  does  it  turn  out 
upon  inspection  spurious.  There  is  something  which 
truly  passes  from  sufi"ering  love  to  him  for  whom  it 
sufiers  ;  something  which  is  communicated  to  the 
criminal ;  a  new  regard  to  him  which  is  an  advantage 
to  him.  He  looks  different  after  it  from  what  he  did 
before.  There  is  a  transition  of  some  kind  in  our  minds. 
There  is  a  pacifying  influence  upon  the  appetite  for 
punishment.  That  another,  and  such  another,  is  in- 
terested in  him ; — does  that  for  him  which  he  could 
not  do  for  himself ;  it  is  rank  to  him ;  a  new  position. 
That  there  is  an  alteration  of  feeling  toward  him  in 

consequence  of  another's  act,  and  that  the  love  of 

0 


194 


The  Atone77unt. 


another  to  him  can  move  toward  pardon,  is  a  fact  of 
our  nature. 

This  is  only,  indeed,  an  instance  of  one  depart- 
ment of  that  o;eneral  law  of  mediation  which  we  0I3- 
serve  in  life  and  in  nature.  The  whole  law  of  associa- 
tion, c.  g.,  is  a  law  of  mediation  in  the  way  of  enlisting 
feelings  for  us,  by  means  external  to  us.  The  laws  of 
association  do  in  fact  plead  for  persons  from  the  moment 
they  are  born  ;  men  have  advocates  in  those  they  never 
knew,  and  succeed  to  pre-engaged  affections,  and  have 
difficulties  cleared  away  before  them  in  their  path.  The 
air  they  breathe  intercedes  for  them,  the  ground  they 
have  trod  on,  the  same  sights,  the  same  neighbourhood. 
A\Tiat  is  the  tie  of  place,  or  what  is  even  the  tie  of 
blood,  to  the  essential  moral  being ;  it  is  a  wholly  ex- 
traneous circumstance  ;  nevertheless  these  links  and 
these  associations,  which  are  wholly  external  to  the 
man,  procure  regards  for  him,  and  regards  which  are 
inspired  with  strong  sentiment  and  affection.  So  good 
deeds  of  others,  "^dth  which  persons  have  nothing  in 
reality  to  do,  procure  them  love  and  attention.  The 
son  of  a  friend  and  benefactor  shines  in  the  light  of 
others'  acts,  and  inspires,  before  he  is  known,  a  warm 
and  approving  feeling.  These  are  instances  of  media- 
tion, in  which  what  others  do  raises  the  regard  toward 
youi'self,  puts  you  in  an  advantageous  light,  and  creates 
a  good  will  toward  you.  And  though  it  is  another, 
still  it  is  only  another  step  in  this  particular  line  of 
mediation,  when,  by  its  own  suffering,  mediating  love 
alters  regards  toward  one  who  has  contracted  guilt. 
It  is  indeed  denied  in  some  quarters  that  the  parallel 


The  Atonement. 


195 


of  mediation  in  nature  extends  to  such  a  case  as  this. 
It  is  said,  if  you  examine  what  mediation  in  nature 
in  the  behalf  of  the  guilty  really  is,  and  what  it 
amounts  to,  you  will  find  that  it  applies  only  to  the 
physical  consequences  of  sinful  actions  as  actions,  and 
not  to  the  moral  consequences  of  such  actions  as  sins. 
A  man  by  a  course  of  profligacy  loses  his  health,  and 
by  a  course  of  medical  discipline  recovers  it ;  a  man 
wastes  his  property,  and  is  rescued  from  ruin  by  the 
intervention  of  his  friends.  These  are  cases  in  which 
one  train  of  physical  consequences  is  checked  by  the 
operation  of  another ;  but  you  do  not  find  in  nature, 
it  is  said,  any  case  of  mediation  in  which  the  moral 
consequences  of  sin  are  interfered  with — its  punish- 
ment as  sin,  as  being  of  ill  desert  :  and  this  must 
be  put  down  therefore  as  a  contradiction  to  our 
moral  nature — that  any  act  of  one  man  can  affect  the 
moral  result  of  the  sin  of  another,  or  affect  our  regards 
toward  that  man  as  a  guilty  person.  But  though  this 
limit  in  the  mediation  of  nature  is  asserted,  it  appears 
to  me  to  be  asserted  contrary  to  obvious  facts.  Media- 
tion does  appear,  in  particular  cases,  to  advance  beyond 
physical  consequences  to  moral ;  as  where,  as  has  just 
been  described,  suffering  love,  pleading  for  another 
person,  clearly  has  the  power  of  appeasing  our  appetite 
for  his  punishment ;  and  introduces  fresh  regards  to- 
ward that  other  person. 

This,  that  has  been  described,  is  the  principle  upon 
which  the  sacrifice  of  love  acts,  as  distinguished  from 
the  sacrifice  of  mere  substitifkion ;  it  is  a  principle 
||    which  is  supported  by  the  voice  of  nature  and  by  the 


196 


The  Atonement. 


law  of  mediation  in  nature ;  and  this  is  the  principle, 
which  the  Gospel  doctrine  of  the  Atonement  proclaims. 

The  effect  of  Christ's  love  for  mankind,  and  suffer- 
ing on  their  behalf,  is  described  in  Scripture  as  being 
the  reconciliation  of  the  Father  to  man,  and  the  adop- 
tion of  new  regards  toward  him.  The  act  of  one, 
i.e.,  produces  this  result  in  the  mind  of  God  toward 
another ;  the  act  of  a  suffering  Mediator  reconciles  God 
to  the  guilty.  But  neither  in  natural  mediation  nor 
in  supernatural  does  the  act  of  suffering  love,  in  pro- 
ducing that  change  of  regard  to  which  it  tends,  dis- 
pense with  the  moral  change  in  the  criminal.  We 
cannot,  of  course,  because  a  good  man  suffers  for  a 
criminal,  alter  our  regards  to  him  if  he  obstinately  re- 
mains a  criminal.  And  if  the  Gospel  taught  any  such 
thing  in  the  doctrine  of  the  Atonement,  it  would  cer- 
tainly expose  itself  to  the  charge  of  immorality.  But 
if  there  is  no  mediation  in  nature  which  brings  out 
mercy  for  the  criminal  without  a  change  in  him,  neither 
on  the  other  hand,  for  the  purpose  of  the  parallel,  do 
we  want  such.  Undoul)tedly  there  must  be  this  change, 
but  even  with  this,  past  crime  is  not  yet  pardoned. 
There  is  room  for  a  mediator  ;  room  for  some  source  of 
pardon  which  does  not  take  its  rise  in  a  man's  self, 
although  it  must  act  with  conditions. 

But  viewed  as  acting  upon  this  mediatorial  prin- 
ciple, the  doctrine  of  the  Atonement  rises  altogether 
to  another  level ;  it  parts  company  with  the  gross  and 
irrational  conception  of  mere  naked  material  substitu- 
tion of  one  person  for  another  in  punishment,  and  it 
takes  its  stand  upon  the  power  of  love,  and  points  to 


] 


The  Atonement. 


197 


the  actual  effect  of  the  intervention  of  suffering  love 
in  nature,  and  to  a  parallel  case  of  mediation  as  a  par- 
doning power  in  nature.  When,  then,  objectors  urge, 
against  the  doctrine  of  the  Atonement  the  contradic- 
tion which  it  is  to  reason,  that  one  man  can  be  pun- 
ished in  the  place  of  another,  and  assume  a  simple  and 
naked  substitution  of  one  person  for  another,  as  the 
essence  of  the  doctrine  of  the  Atonement,  it  should  be 
observed  that  this  is  going  back  to  an  ignorant  and 
barbarous  form  of  the  doctrine  as  the  true  representa- 
tion of  it ;  when  a  completely  new  and  purified  form 
of  it  has  come  in  in  the  Gospel  doctrine  of  the  Atone- 
ment. That  doctrine  was,  in  fact,  as  much  a  reform 
upon  the  'pagan  doctrine  of  substitution,  as  the  Gospel 
was  upon  paganism,  in  religious  truth  in  general. 
The  doctrine  of  Scripture,  so  far  from  being  the 
doctrine  of  mere  substitution,  is  a  protest  against 
that  doctrine  ;  it  makes  accurate  provision  for  moral 
claims  ;  it  enforces  conditions  on  the  subject  of  the 
sacrifice;  it  attributes  a  reasonable  and  rational  ground 
of  influence  and  mode  of  operation  to  the  sacrifice. 
But  objectors  treat  a  doctrine  which  is,  in  fact,  an 
harmonious  balance  and  adjustment  of  truths,  as  if  it 
were  the  same  with  the  coarse  and  rude  violation  of 
common  sense,  which  the  pagan  atonement  represented. 
It  is  as  though — if  one  may  compare  secular  things 
with  sacred — some  correct  statement  of  diplomacy 
or  reasoning  had  been  charged  with  a  rude  blunder 
wholly  out  of  its  scope.  They  make  a  mistake  in 
the  object  of  their  attack ;  they  mistake  their  doc- 
trine, and  have  got  hold  of  the  wrong  one.  They 


198 


The  Atonement. 


are  attacking  the  pagan  doctrine,  and  think  they  are 
attacking  the  Christian  one.  The  scope  of  their  attack 
suits  very  well  as  against  the  savage  and  antiquated 
notion  of  mere  substitution  ;  but  their  weapon  is  pow- 
erless, and  cuts  the  air  as  against  the  Christian  idea. 

There  is,  however,  undoubtedly  contained  in  the 
Scriptural  doctrine  of  the  Atonement,  a  kind  and  a 
true  kind,  of  fulfilment  of  justice.  It  is  a  fulfilment  in 
the  sense  of  appeasing  and  satisfying  justice  ;  appeas- 
ing that  appetite  for  punishment  which  is  the  charac- 
teristic of  justice  in  relation  to  evil.  There  is  obviously 
an  appetite  in  justice  which  is  implied  in  that  very 
anger  which  is  occasioned  by  crime,  by  a  wrong  being 
committed  ;  we  desire  the  punishment  of  the  criminal 
as  a  kind  of  redress,  and  his  punishment  undoubtedly 
satisfies  a  natural  craving  of  our  mind.  But  let  any 
one  have  exposed  himself  thus  to  the  appetite  for 
punishment  in  om-  nature,  and  it  is  undoubtedly  the 
case,  however  we  may  account  for  it,  that  the  real  suf- 
fering of  another  for  him,  of  a  good  person  for  a  guilty 
one,  will  mollify  the  appetite  for  punishment,  which 
was  possibly  up  to  that  time  in  full  possession  of  our 
minds  ;  and  this  kind  of  satisfaction  to  justice  and 
appeasing  of  it  is  involved  in  the  Scriptural  doctrine 
of  the  Atonement.  And  so,  also,  there  is  a  kind  of 
substitution  involved  in  the  Scriptiu-e  doctrine  of  the 
Atonement,  and  a  true  kind  ;  but  it  is  not  a  literal 
but  a  moral  kind  of  substitution.  It  is  one  person 
suffering  in  behalf  of  another,  for  the  sake  of  another  : 
in  that  sense  he  takes  the  place  and  acts  in  the  stead 
of  another,  he  suffers  that  another  may  escape  suflfer- 


The  Atonement. 


199 


ing,  lie  condemns  himself  to  a  burden  that  another 
may  be  relieved.  But  this  is  the  moral  substitution 
which  is  inherent  in  acts  of  love  and  labour  ybr  others; 
it  is  a  totally  different  thing  from  the  literal  substitu- 
tion of  one  person  for  another  in  punishment.  The 
outspoken  witness  in  the  human  heart  which  has  from 
the  beginning  embraced  the  doctrine  of  the  Atonement 
with  the  warmth  of  religious  affection,  has  been,  in- 
deed, a  better  judge  on  the  moral  question  than  par- 
ticular formal  schools  of  theological  philosophy.  The 
atoning  act  of  the  Son,  as  an  act  of  love  on  behalf  of 
sinful  man,  appealed  to  wonder  and  praise  :  the  effect 
of  the  act  in  changing  the  regards  of  the  Father  to- 
wards the  sinner,  was  only  the  representation,  in  the 
sublime  and  ineffable  region  of  mystery,  of  an  effect 
which  men  recognised  in  their  own  minds.  The 
human  heart  accepts  mediation.  It  does  not  under- 
stand it  as  a  whole ;  but  the  fragment  of  which  it  is 
conscious  is  enough  to  defend  the  doctrine  upon  the 
score  of  morals. 

Have  we  not,  indeed,  in  our  moral  nature  a 
great  deal  to  do  with  fragments.  What  is  mercy  it- 
self but  a  fragment  which  we  do  not  intellectually 
understand,  and  which  we  cannot  harmonise  and  bring 
into  consistency  with  justice.  Guilt  is  the  direct  con- 
sequence of  a  crime  having  been  committed,  it  means 
that  fact ;  it  therefore  cannot,  as  far  as  we  can  see,  be 
taken  from  the  man  so  long  as  the  crime  lias  heen 
committed  ;  and  the  old  proverb  said  it  was  the  thing 
the  gods  themselves  could  not  do — to  make  what  had 
been  done,  not  have  been  done.    It  is  therefore  a  pro- 


200 


The  Atonement. 


found  and  absolute  impossibility  that  a  man  ever 
can  be  relieved  from  guilt  at  all  by  the  light  of  specu- 
lative reason.  We  only  know  mercy  as  a  practical 
state  of  feeling — that  when  an  offender  exhibits  cer- 
tain conditions  we  go  through  a  certain  change  of 
mind  concerning  him,  which  is  the  stage  of  mercy. 
But  if  mercy  is  a  fragment  justice  is  a  fragment  too  ; 
you  cannot  carry  justice  out.  It  is  not  a  whole,  it  is 
not  a  consistent  thing.  If  mediation  as  a  pardoning 
power  then  is  a  fragment  of  our  moral  nature — felt, 
but  not  knowing  the  way  to  act  it  out;  a  part  of  natural 
feeling  not  reduced  to  system ;  we  say  no  more  of  it  in 
substance  than  we  do  of  justice  and  mercy.  With 
respect  to  mercy,  we  have  practical  feeling  about  it 
which  we  cannot  resist,  and  which  we  think  right ;  and 
with  respect  to  mediating  love  as  a  motive  to  mercy, 
we  practically  feel  it  to  be  a  true  motive  as  a  part  of 
us ;  that,  as  an  ingredient  in  our  nature,  we  cannot 
help  acknowledging  the  power  of  one  person's  love  to 
affect  our  regards  to  another,  and  unconsciously  trans- 
fer a  certain  merit  from  the  loving  person  to  the  loved. 
We  cannot  carry  out  this  principle  into  any  whole  de- 
veloped action ;  but  it  is  a  true  element  in  our  nature, 
and  it  affects  us  in  a  true  way  in  our  relations  to  guilt. 
Justice  is  a  fragment,  mercy  is  a  fragment,  mediation 
is  a  fragment ;  justice,  mercy,  mediation  as  a  reason 
of  mercy — all  three  ;  what  indeed  are  they  but  great 
vistas  and  openings  into  an  invisible  world  in  which 
is  the  point  of  view  which  brings  them  all  together. 

There  can  of  course  be,  and  has  been,  a  punctilious 
and  narrow  view  of  justice  which  only  takes  in  the 


The  A  tonement. 


20I 


single  idea,  extracting  it  from  the  whole  setting  and 
context  in  which  it  naturally  stands.  This  rigid  and 
pedantic  idea  of  justice  has  been  a  very  persistent  foe 
of  Christianity  and  has  always  dogged  its  steps.  It 
was  the  favourite  argument  of  the  Pelagians,  and  has 
been  of  various  Deistical  schools ;  but  the  error  was 
obvious,  that  it  was  making  a  whole  of  what  was  only 
a  fragment.  The  Pelagians  were  always  harping  upon 
one  chord :  they  never  got  out  of  a  groove  of  one 
single  idea  about  justice  in  connection  with  merit;  that 
all  goodness  must  be  a  man's  original  own  making ; 
that  inspiration  was  unfair,  atoning  love  irrelevant. 
So  a  school  of  Deists  have  only  seen  one  morsil  prin- 
ciple in  things — justice,  and  converted  mercy  into 
justice,  as  man's  due.  All  this  is  the  teaching  of  men 
who  can  only  see  one  idea  in  human  nature ;  accord- 
ing to  this  idea  of  justice  the  sacrifice  of  a  mediator  is 
an  act  of  high  moral  virtue,  but  the  state  of  the  crimi- 
nal is  not  touched  by  it ;  they  are  separate  facts,  with- 
out any  bearing  upon  each  other ;  each  is  what  it  is  ; 
each  merits  what  he  merits.  But  the  human  heart 
takes  in  all  the  great  vistas  and  reaches  of  human 
reason  ;  one  true  element  in  us  agrees  with  every 
other. 

The  doctrine  of  the  Atonement  is  the  doctrine  which 
most  of  all  comes  into  collision  with,  and  declares  most 
unextinguishable  war  with,  materialistic  ideas  of  the 
Deity ;  and  for  this  very  reason,  as  often  as  the 
materialistic  side  is  by  circumstances  made  the  pro- 
minent one  in  our  minds,  and  we  are  made  to  realise 
the  visible  infinity  and  unbroken  law  of  the  physical 


202 


The  Atonement. 


universe, — at  such  times,  confronted  by  the  iron  em- 
pire of  a  mechanical  immensity,  we  feel  at  the  moment 
the  whole  account  of  the  Atonement  come  as  a  surprise 
upon  us.  Material  infinity  is  in  fact  a  scene — the 
world  appearing  in  a  certain  light  and  aspect  to  us. 
Well,  if  when  the  universe  appears  in  this  aspect  to  us 
— if  while  looking  on  a  dreadful  expanse  of  impersonal 
vacancy,  the  action  of  the  Atonement  suddenly  demands 
a  place  in  this  world,  is  there  not  a  clash  ?  What  room 
is  there  for  this  most  awful,  most  grand,  most  sublime, 
most  pathetic  and  glorious — if  we  may  express  heaven- 
ly things  in  human  language — adventure  amid  the 
laws  of  nature  ?  The  reign  of  material  fact,  the  sort 
of  reality  tliat  is,  throws  an  unsubstantial  visionariness 
on  the  other  plane  of  history ;  and  the  drama  of  the 
Atonement  hangs  like  a  beautiful  picture  in  the  sky, 
too  good  to  be  true.  For  it  is  characteristic  of 
the  Atonement  that  it  is  not  only  a  doctrine  but  a 
history :  it  is  a  drama ;  it  has  action,  it  has  parts,  it 
has  personages,  it  has  place  and  scene.  There  is  a 
Father  and  there  is  a  Son ;  the  Father  sends  the  Son 
to  be  the  Saviour  of  the  world ;  the  Son  comes  down 
from  heaven  to  save  it ;  enters  this  world,  lives  a  life 
of  sorrow  in  it;  dies  as  a  sacrifice  for  it;  He 
rises  from  the  dead,  returns  to  heaven,  and  sits 
at  the  right  hand  of  God,  above  all  principality 
and  power,  and  might  and  dominion,  and  every 
name  that  is  named,  not  only  in  this  world  but 
also  in  the  world  to  come.  Visible  fragments  then  of 
this  sublime  story  are  witnessed  to;  but  in  what 
heaven  and  earth  did  the  whole  take  place  ?  None 


The  Atonement. 


203 


that  we  see ;  none  that  science  knows  of ;  there  is  no 
place  for  it  within  this  sphere  of  space  in  which  we 
are.  In  no  material  sky  did  the  Father  give  the  com- 
mission to  the  Son.  In  no  material  sky  does  the  Son 
now  sit  by  the  throne  of  the  Father.  This  whole 
action  took  place  in  another  heaven  than  that  we  see. 
Within  this  sphere  of  space,  and  to  one  who  does  not 
cast  his  eye  in  any  sense  out  of  it,  it  looks  no  part  of 
the  real  world,  it  looks  out  of  place ;  the  whole  story 
is  one  grand  incongruity ;  a  splendid  illusion ;  ready 
to  melt  away  and  evaporate,  like  any  creation  of 
cloud  or  colour,  the  first  occasion  any  one  probes  its 
solidity. 

Hence  then  it  is  that  some  see  only  in  the  account 
of  the  Son  of  God's  Atonement  for  the  human  race,  a 
religious  form  of  one  of  those  legends  which  have  fol- 
lowed the  dawn  of  human  sentiment  and  poetry.  This 
has  been,  they  say,  the  favourite  type  of  the  romance 
of  all  ages.  There  is  a  captive  in  chains,  there  is  an 
oppressor,  there  is  a  deliverer  from  a  far  country ;  he 
exposes  himself  to  hardships  and  death  for  the  sake  of 
the  fallen  ;  he  conquers,  he  restores  the  enchained  to 
freedom,  and  wins  for  himself  glory  and  triumph. 
And  is  not  this,  they  say,  the  story  of  the  Atonement  ? 
And  if  so,  what  is  it  all  but  like  soothing  the  ears 
of  children  with  ancient  rhymes,  or  sending  them  to 
sleep  with  the  sound  of  soft  music  and  murmuring 
voices  ?  What  is  it  but,  when  facts  desert  us,  having 
recourse  to  dreams,  believing  in  poems,  and  feeding  on 
imagery  ? 

Undoubtedly  the  story  of  the  Atonement  can  be  so 


204 


The  A  tonement. 


represented  as  to  seem  to  follow  in  general  type  the 
poetical  legends  and  romances  of  the  infantine  imagi- 
nation of  the  world.  In  details — what  we  read  in  the 
four  Gospels — not  much  resemblance  can  be  charged, 
but  a  summary  can  be  made  so  as  to  resemble  them. 
And  what  if  it  can  ?  What  is  it  but  to  say  that  certain 
turning  ideas,  Divine  and  human,  resemble  each  other  ; 
that  there  is  an  analogy  ?  The  old  legends  of  mankind 
represent  in  their  general  scope  not  mere  fancy,  but  a 
real  longing  of  human  nature,  a  desire  of  men's  hearts 
for  a  real  Deliverer  under  the  evils  under  which  life 
groans.  The  whole  creation  groaneth  and  travaileth 
in  pain  together  until  now.  But  more  than  this,  do 
not  they  represent  real  facts  too  ?  These  legends  of 
deliverers  would  never  have  arisen  had  there  not  been 
deliverers  in  fact  ;  the  fabulous  champions  would 
not  have  appeared  had  there  not  been  the  real  ; 
it  was  truth  which  put  it  in  men's  heads  to  imagine. 
Doubtless,  in  all  ages,  there  were  men  above  the 
level,  who  interposed  to  put  a  stop  to  wrongs  and 
grievances  ;  for,  indeed,  the  world  would  have  been 
intolerable  had  it  been  completely  given  up  to  the  bad. 
The  romances  of  early  times,  then,  reflect  at  the  bottom 
what  are  facts ;  they  reflect  the  action  of  real  mediators 
in  nature,  who  interposed  from  time  to  time  for  the 
succour  of  mankind  in  great  emergencies.  When,  then, 
a  heavenly  mediation  is  found  to  resemble  in  general 
language  an  earthly  one,  what  is  it  more  than  saying 
that  earthly  things  are  types  of  heavenly.  We  do  not 
suppose  that  the  two  worlds,  visible  and  invisible,  are 
absolutely  difi"erent  and  heterogeneous  in  fundamental 


The  Atonement. 


205 


structure  ;  we  believe  that  they  are  upon  one  type, 
only  that  the  type  is  carried  out  in  an  infinitely  higher 
manner  in  the  heavenly  world  than  in  the  earthly. 
What  wonder  then  if,  when  the  highest  of  all  media- 
tors, the  Mediator  between  God  and  man  appears,  the 
outline  of  His  work  comes  out  in  the  language  of  the 
Christian  creed,  as  resembling  the  outline  of  some  great 
earthly  mediation ;  in  that  sense  in  which  what  is 
heavenly  can  resemble  what  is  earthly.  "  He  for  us 
men  came  down  from  heaven  ;  He  was  made  man ; 
He  was  crucified  for  us.  He  suffered  ;  He  was  buried  ; 
He  rose  again  ;  He  ascended."  So  long  as  these  words 
stand,  and  they  are  words  of  Scripture  as  well  as  of 
the  Creed,  so  long  must  the  Atonement  recall  to  us 
images  of  high  earthly  mediations  ;  so  long  must  the 
doctrine  of  the  Atonement  remind  us  of  facts  and  of 
ideals  in  the  history  and  mind  of  man.  It  is  impos- 
sible to  prevent  these  words  from  bringing  back  the 
burden  of  other  histories — the  home  of  grandeur  and 
peace  left,  the  dark  and  dreadful  contest  entered,  the 
victory,  the  rescue,  and  the  exaltation.  But  is  this 
any  reflection  upon  the  doctrine  of  the  Atonement  ? 
Or  is  it  not  rather  the  glory  of  that  great  doctrine  that 
all  these  high  earthly  types  of  what  is  noble  in  action 
point  so  naturally  to  it,  and  that  it  fulfils  all  the 
highest  conceptions  and  aspirations  of  the  human 
mind. 

So  rooted  is  the  great  principle  of  mediation  in 
nature,  that  the  mediatorship  of  Christ  cannot  be  re- 
vealed to  us  without  reminding  us  of  a  whole  world  of 
analogous  action,  and  of  representation  of  action.  How 


2o6 


The  Atonement. 


natural  thus  does  the  idea  of  a  Mediator  turn  out  to 
be  ?  Yet  this  is  exactly  the  point  at  which  many 
stumble ;  pardon  they  approve  of ;  reconciliation  they 
approve  of ;  but  reconciliation  by  means  of  mediation 
is  what  they  cannot  understand.  AVliy  not  dispense 
with  a  superfluity  they  say ;  and  why  not  let  these 
relieve  us  from  what  they  consider  the  incumbrance 
of  a  mediator  ?  But  this  is  not  the  light  in  which  a 
mediator  is  viewed  by  the  great  bulk  of  the  human 
race.  It  has  appeared  to  the  great  mass  of  Christians 
infinitely  more  natural  to  be  saved  with  a  Mediator 
than  without  one.  They  have  no  desire  to  be  spared  a 
Mediator,  and  cannot  imagine  the  advantage  of  being 
saved  a  special  source  of  love.  They  may  be  offered 
greater  directness  in  forgiveness,  but  forgiveness  by 
intervention  is  more  like  the  truth  to  them. 

It  is  this  rooted  place  of  a  Mediator  in  the  human 
heart  which  is  so  sublimely  displayed  in  the  sacred 
crowds  of  the  Book  of  Revelations.  The  multitude 
which  no  man  can  number  are  indeed  there  all  holy, 
all  kings  and  priests,  all  consecrated  and  elect.  But 
the  individual  greatness  of  aU  is  consummated  in  One 
who  is  in  the  centre  of  the  whole,  Him  who  is  the  head 
of  the  whole  race,  who  leads  it,  who  has  saved  it,  its 
King  and  Representative,  the  First-Born  of  the  whole 
creation  and  the  Redeemer  of  it.  Toward  Him  all 
faces  are  turned ;  and  it  is  as  when  a  vast  army  fixes 
its  look  upon  a  great  commander  in  whom  it  glories, 
who  on  some  festival  day  is  placed  conspicuously  in 
the  midst.  Is  there  humiliation  in  that  look  because 
he  commands  them?   there  is  pride  and  exaltation. 


The  A  to7iement. 


207 


because  he  represents  them.  Every  one  is  greater  for 
such  a  representative.  So  in  that  heavenly  crowd  all 
countenances  reflect  the  exaltation  of  their  Head.  Of 
that  countless  multitude  none  forgets  that  he  has  been 
ransomed,  but  none  is  lowered  by  the  thought.  The 
ransom  has  been  given  by  their  Head,  and  man  has 
been  rescued  by  man.  The  air  of  Heaven  is  perfumed 
with  the  fragrance  of  an  altar,  and  animated  with  the 
glory  of  a  great  conquest.  The  victory  of  the  Mediator 
never  ceases,  and  all  triumph  in  Him. 


OUR  DUTY  TO  EQUALS. 


Romans  xii.  16,  17. 

"  Condescend  to  men  of  loio  estate.  .  .  .  Provide  things  hmest  in  the 
sight  of  all  men." 

TTOOKER'S  great  principle  may  perhaps  be  applied 
to  the  moral  as  well  as  the  ceremonial  question 
— that  the  omission  of  a  point  in  Scripture  does  not 
decide  against  it,  but  only  throws  us  upon  the  law  of 
reason  in  the  matter.  Scripture  ethics  may  perhaps 
be  affected  by  this  principle  as  well  as  Scripture  law 
respecting  Church  forms.  I  mean  by  Scripture  ethics 
here,  not  so  much  duties  themselves,  as  the  comparative 
rank  of  different  duties — that  we  cannot  judge  from 
the  comparative  omission  of  this  or  that  class  of  duties 
in  Scripture,  that  therefore  anything  is  decided  as  to 
its  importance,  or  that  it  does  not  rank  so  high  as  some 
other  class  of  duties  which  stands  forward  more  pro- 
minently. Thus  the  New  Testament  says  compara- 
tively little  about  duties  to  equals,  and  enlarges  upon 
duties  to  inferiors,  compassion  for  the  poor,  sympathy 
with  the  afflicted,  indulgence  to  the  weak  and  the  like 
— upon  what  we  may  call  generally  the  condescending 
life;  i.e.  a  voluntary  descending  from  our  own  level  to 
that  of  others.   With  respect  to  those  who  are  as  strong 


Oiir  Duty  to  Equals.  209 


as  themselves,  as  rich  as  themselves,  as  clever  as  them- 
selves, and  know  as  much  as  themselves,  and  have  as 
many  advantages  in  short  of  body  and  mind  as  they 
have — in  a  word  about  men's  equals ;  it  does  not  say 
much.  But  we  may  not  infer  from  this  that  duties  to 
equals  do  not  rank  as  high  and  are  not  as  trying  a 
class  of  duties  as  those  to  inferiors  or  to  sufferers. 
We  may  not  infer  even  that  they  are  not  a  more  trying 
class  of  duties ;  we  can  infer  nothing  at  all  about  it. 
What  if  the  former  are  a  more  searching  ordeal  of  the 
character  than  the  latter  ?  There  is  nothing  at  all 
against  this  estimate  in  Scripture,  from  the  fact  that 
it  says  less  about  them  and  more  about  the  other ; 
because  Scripture  in  omitting,  comparatively,  express 
mention  or  inculcation  of  one  class  of  duties  may  still 
assume  the  whole  truth  about  them ;  and  what  that 
truth  is,  is  left  to  our  natural  reason  to  decide.  If 
Scripture  singles  out  particularly  one  class  of  duties,  it 
may  be  not  to  give  it  intrinsic  pre-eminence,  but  be- 
cause, as  a  supplement  to  former  ethics,  it  needed 
special  notice.  What  may  be  called  the  condescend- 
ing life  was  comparatively  a  new  branch  of  morals ;  it 
therefore  demanded  a  prominent  place  in  that  page  of 
Scripture  in  which,  as  a  large  and  fully  developed  law 
of  morals,  it  was  for  the  first  time  brought  forward. 
But  Scripture  in  the  particular  expansion  it  gives  to 
our  duties  to  the  poor  and  the  inferior,  institutes  no 
comparison  between  the  merits  of  the  two,  and  decides 
nothing  as  to  the  superiority  of  the  class  of  duties  it 
calls  special  attention  to  over  the  class  it  comparatively 
omits. 

p 


210  Oiir  Duty  to  Eqvals. 


This  is  not  a  subject  altogether  without  a  special 
interest  in  the  present  period  of  our  Church,  during 
which  this  branch  of  Christian  work,  which  involves 
the  relationship  to  the  poor,  the  sympathy  mth  them, 
and  what  we  may  call  generally  the  condescending  life, 
as  distinguished  from  the  life  amongst  equals,  has  been 
so  largely  and  so  profitably  developed.  We  may  say  in 
brief  that  the  peculiar  scope  of  our  Church  ethics  for 
the  last  thirty  years  has  been  the  culture  of  works  of 
compassion.  It  may  be  said,  and  we  may  rejoice  in 
saying  it,  that  great  numbers  have  devoted  themselves 
specially  to  a  life  of  compassion  and  charitable  exertion 
in  the  cause  of  the  sick  and  poor.  It  has  been  a  most 
remarkable  instance  of  extraordinary  development  in 
a  particular  field  of  labour  and  energy  in  a  church ; 
and  doubtless  the  historians  of  our  Church  in  a  future 
day  will  pay  a  marked  tribute  to  it.  Nor  need  we 
confine  the  special  expansion  of  this  branch  of  Chris- 
tian work  by  any  means  to  the  rise  of  formal  institu- 
tions ;  it  has  penetrated  as  a  general  spirit  into  our 
parishes  and  through  society. 

This  striking  manifestation  cannot  be  observed 
without  awakening  much  thought  and  many  reflections 
upon  the  singular  power  which  Christianity  has  ex- 
hibited in  this  field  of  employment.  What  a  new  life 
of  the  affections  it  has  called  into  existence  !  The  con- 
spicuous and  commanding  use  indeed  which  Chris- 
tianity has  made  of  the  principle  of  compassion,  is  a 
characteristic  of  it  which  must  strike  everybody.  And 
in  addition  to  the  obvious  moral  fruits  which  are  in- 
volved in  the  employment  of  such  an  affection,  it  is 


Our  Duty  to  Eqtials. 


2  I  I 


impossible  not  to  see  what  an  enormous  move  was 
made  in  the  furtherance  of  the  greatest  happiness  prin- 
ciple, when  this  affection  was  taken  up  and  converted 
into  practice,  and  made  a  part  of  the  individual's  life. 
It  is  impossible  not  to  see  that  numbers  who  never 
would  have  been  happy  in  any  other  way,  have  been 
made  happy  and  satisfied  by  the  habitual  exercise  of 
compassion ;  by  a  life  spent  in  more  or  less  degree  in 
that  employment.  Is  not  one  struck  with  the  aston- 
ishing stupidity  of  paganism  in  throwing  away,  as 
hardly  looking  at  it,  such  an  engine,  such  an  instru- 
ment of  gratification  of  the  most  deep,  insinuating, 
and  penetrating  kind ; — winding  itself  into  the  inner 
soul.  Why,  instead  of  that  philosophical  horror  of 
perturbations  ;  instead  of  all  those  quaint  formulae 
about  compassion  as  an  infirmity,  an  segritudo,  which 
one  reads  as  one  would  the  curious  pedantic  jargon  of 
an  obsolete  world,  separated  from  us  by  cycles  of  ages, 
why,  instead  of  talking,  did  it  not  fasten  at  once  and 
eagerly  upon  such  a  prize  as  a  motive ; — such  a  for- 
tunate and  such  an  invaluable  discovery,  such  a  gain 
to  life — the  life  even  of  the  agents  themselves  ?  It  is 
obvious,  upon  the  mere  face  of  it,  that  compassion  is  a 
very  remarkable  principle  ;  and  one  remarkable  in  this 
very  point  of  view,  that  it  converts  into  a  pleasure  to 
the  individual  that  which  is  of  incalculable  advantaofe 
to  society, — the  alleviation  of  pain  and  misery.  There 
could  not  be  a  more  striking  instance  of  things  being 
double  one  of  another,  than  that,  there  being  sadness 
in  the  world,  there  should  be  an  affection  which  derives 
its  very'  gratification  from  sadness,  and  is  carried  toward 


2  I  2 


Our  Duty  to  Equals. 


the  relief  of  it  by  an  impulse  which  becomes  pleasure 
in  the  act ;  pleasure  as  the  very  consequence  of  pain, 
because  it  is  pain  that  calls  forth  that  special  form 
of  love,  and  with  the  form  of  love  the  special  delight 
that  accompanies  that  form.  And  thus  Montaigne 
says,  that  there  is  a  spice  of  cruelty  in  compassion, 
because  it  requires  pain  to  gratify  its  own  special 
nature.  There  l^eing,  however,  this  peculiar  affection 
in  us,  which  was  obviously  of  such  immense  practical 
power  for  dealing  with  this  world  as  we  find  it,  nay, 
which  converts  the  very  evil  of  the  world  into  a  mate- 
rial for  exercising  man  and  his  affections ;  and  not 
only  exercising  them  but  gratifpng  them  ; — how  was 
it  that  the  old  world  so  entirely  overlooked  this  won- 
derful practical  instrument,  rejected  the  compassionate 
life,  and  talked  in  a  way  about  compassion  in  which 
men  in  a  dream  would  talk  about  something, — with 
feeble  idle  remarks  ;  dealt  with  it  with  a  vapid  super- 
ciliousness and  a  querulous  emptiness  which  did  not 
enter  into  its  nature,  or  interpret  the  scope  of  the 
affection,  or  see  the  work  it  could  do.  This  vast  power 
in  the  world  lay  dormant,  and  had  nothing  given 
it  to  do.  It  acted  of  course  as  a  natural  affection  in 
human  hearts,  whatever  philosophers  might  say,  and 
had  its  influence  as  such.  It  was  the  consoler  of 
human  sorrows,  the  softener  of  human  trials.  That  it 
must  be  always,  nature  will  always  claim  its  own ; 
but  no  public  work  was  given  it  in  the  economy  of  the 
world, — it  was  not  brought  out. 

And  we  may  remark  how  paganism  has  blunted 
and  suppressed  even  the  natural  virtue.    One  sees  an 


Our  Duty  to  Equals. 


213 


instance  of  this  in  the  religious  rite  of  Hiudooism,  in 
leading  the  aged  and  infirm  to  the  banks  of  the  Ganges, 
and  there  leaving  them  to  be  carried  away  by  the  next 
rise  of  the  waters.  The  religion  had  doubtless  its  own 
account  to  give  of  such  a  cutting  short  of  human  life  : 
it  might  say  it  saved  a  great  deal  of  bodily  pain  and 
suffering  by  it :  what  one  observes  is  the  total  blind- 
ness it  shows  to  the  immense  resources  of  compassion, 
the  power  of  the  virtue  to  convert  its  material  into 
gratification.  For  does  not  age  and  infirmity  under 
the  point  of  view  which  compassion  takes,  become  the 
subject  matter  of  a  quantity  of  daily  cares  and  atten- 
tions, which  interest,  which  soothe,  and  which  satisfac- 
torily engage  the  minds  of  the  younger  generation  ? 
To  cut  off  then  the  natural  end  of  life  was  to  cut  off 
that  which  the  virtue  of  compassion  specially  appro- 
priated as  its  own,  and  with  which  it  was  fully  able  to 
deal  and  designed  to  deal.  How  much  was  lost  to 
human  life  by  this  violent  arrangement :  and  so  by  the 
Spartan  expedient  of  cutting  off  at  birth  the  maimed 
and  the  sickly  forms  of  human  life,  so  as  not  to  en- 
cumber the  State  with  unprofitable  members,  which 
required  its  nourishment,  and  did  not  repay  it  by 
service.  The  Spartan  idea  of  human  life  was  one  of 
strict  compensation.  It  demanded  an  equivalent. 
Can  you  pay  us  for  it  ?  If  so,  the  State  will  feed  you. 
But  you  must  fight  for  the  State  if  the  State  is  to  keep 
you.  This  was  the  bargain.  The  Spartan  had  not 
the  slightest  conception  of  the  State  putting  itself  to 
expense  and  trouble  for  physically  useless  unproduc- 
tive life.    Did  the  born-maimed  or  feeble  claim  the 


2 1 4  Our  Duty  to  Equals. 


right  to  live  ?  Tlie  claim  was  not  admitted.  To  be 
fed  and  to  do  nothing  for  his  food  was  not  one  of  the 
rights  of  man.  This  was  the  hard  compact  of  Sparta 
with  human  existence.  But  what  utter  barrenness 
was  there  in  the  conception  !  What  a -loss  instead  of 
gain  to  the  community  !  The  principle  of  compassion 
gathers  around  the  sick  couch,  interests  and  produces 
mental  fruits  which  are  ample  equivalents  for  the  want 
of  gross  power.  Around  the  leisure  of  the  infirm, 
thought,  imagination,  and  philosophy  spring  up ;  and 
sick  lives  are  centres  of  improving  and  refining  influ- 
ence. And  a  State  which  did  not  acknowledge  this 
law  consigned  itself  to  the  monotonous  dulness  of 
pugilistic  strength. 

Why  then,  when  there  was  all  this  obvious  power 
and  use  in  compassion,  could  not  men  see  it  ?  Why 
did  they  not  gladly  lay  hold  on  such  a  valuable  instru- 
ment ?  The  reason  was  they  had  not  the  heart  to  do 
it.  Its  nature,  its  scope  was  perfectly  certain,  there 
could  be  no  doubt  about  it :  it  only  required  ordinary 
intellectual  attention  to  see  it ;  it  carried  its  own  wit- 
ness with  it ;  but  there  was  something  just  on  the 
surface  which  looked  like  weakness  ;  it  professed  to 
act  by  feeling  and  not  by  strength.  Therefore  the 
pride  of  man  did  not  think  much  of  it ;  therefore 
ancient  philosophy  never  opened  the  mine  of  happi- 
ness which  lay  in  this  principle.  It  was  a  discovery, 
like  that  of  a  new  scientific  principle,  when  it  was 
made ;  and  Christianity  made  it.  Undoubtedly  we 
must  not  forget  that  a  life  of  compassion  is  not  all 
happiness  ;  it  involves  its  own  hard  work ;  there  is  a 


I 


Our  Duty  to  Equals.  2 1 5 


great  deal  to  do  which  human  nature  does  not  at  first 
like ;  and  there  is  disappointment  here,  as  there  is  in 
other  businesses  of  life.  But  there  can  be  no  doubt 
that  this  principle  has  added  to  the  stock  of  human 
happiness  as  well  as  of  human  goodness. 

It  is  thus  that  many  have  fled  from  the  bitterness 
and  disquiet  of  active  life,  from  the  strife  and  emula- 
tion of  equals,  to  seek  repose  in  the  ministration  to 
inferiors.  They  have  fled  to  the  realm  of  compassion 
for  peace  ;  knowing  that  there  was  work,  but  knowing 
that  the  work  brought  consolation  and  repose  ;  know- 
ing that  there  is  a  work  which  is  trouble,  and  that 
there  is  a  work  which  is  rest.  They  found  in  man's 
adversity  that  help  which  they  could  not  in  his 
strength.  So  have  our  clergy  often  found  in  their 
parishes.  A  man  enters  new  into  the  work  of  a 
parish  ;  and,  if  he  would  confess  it,  he  rather  dreads  the 
deathbeds ;  the  sadness  of  them,  the  monotony  of 
them,  deprived  as  they  are  of  worldly  hope  with  its 
elasticity  and  variety ; — the  difficulty  of  health  and 
vigour  entering  into  the  feeling  of  the  dying.  All  this 
in  prospect  depresses.  But  the  fact  often  turns  out 
quite  otherwise,  and  they  are  agreeably  undeceived  in 
the  characteristics  of  a  deathbed.  The  daily  routine 
of  parish  work  may  be  dull  to  a  person  ;  the  calls  with 
nothing  to  say,  or  only  to  say  what  he  has  said  a  hundred 
times  !  To  deal  with  the  stationariness  of  years  ;  to  do 
without  fresh  aspects,  to  labour  on  old  ground  wearies  : 
but  the  tragic  part  of  human  life — that  never  fails  in 
interest.  It  brings  out  as  by  some  powerful  chemistry 
the  contents  of  men's  minds,  what  they  have  in  them ; 


2l6 


Our  Duty  to  Equals. 


it  is  a  revealer,  an  awakener  of  hearts.  It  is  life  that 
deadens  minds,  death  gives  newness  and  freshness  to 
them ;  the  mask  is  thrown  oflf ;  the  day  of  truth  has 
dawned,  and  none  has  seen  the  dawn  of  that  day 
without  being  strengthened  and  freshened  by  it. 

But  while  the  compassionate  view  of  man,  as  com- 
pared with  the  ordinary  view  of  him  in  his  health  and 
strength  as  a  flourishing  member  of  this  world,  is 
characterised  by  a  beauty  of  its  own,  it  has  at  the  same 
time  the  defect  of  being  a  protected  state  of  mind, 
a  state  in  which  the  mind  is  for  the  moment  relieved 
of  all  its  tendencies  to  irritation  and  to  asperity,  and 
thrown  into  a  perfect  quiet  by  an  external  event  which 
does  everything  for  it  without  an  effort  of  its  ormv. 

How  are  we  afiected  by  a  great  death — the  death 
of  a  great  man,  some  leader,  some  man  of  power,  who 
has  planted  himself  in  history  ?  It  composes  and  sub- 
dues us  ;  it  tranquillises  us  like  some  bell  tolhng,  or 
some  grave  strain  of  music,  or  like  evening  silence. 
Instantly  jars  and  discords  cease,  every  disturbing 
recollection  stops,  and  in  the  aspect  of  compassion  all 
is  forgotten  that  could  raise  the  least  stir  or  breath  of 
air.  Thus  the  mind  is  borne  along  in  a  passive  train 
of  musing,  dwelling  on  the  end  and  close  of  a  splendid 
career,  reposing  on,  and  even  in  a  sense  enjoying,  the 
deep  peace  of  one  great  thought.  Such  is  the  sooth- 
ing power  of  compassion  that  the  mind  under  such 
circumstances  A\all  extract  with  a  kind  of  greediuess 
the  whole  strength  of  the  sedative,  and  di'ain  to  the 
very  utmost  the  deep  power  of  the  charm,  before  it 
lets  the  cup  go.    Such  states  of  mind  may  be  called 


Our  Duty  to  Equals.  21 7 


eloquent ;  eloquent  not  in  the  form  of  pouring  out, 
but  drinking  in — the  eloquence  of  recipiency — draw- 
ing in  deep  currents  of  impressions.  A  great  man 
gone  is  contemplated  in  all  the  softening  light  of  this 
favouring  medium  of  pity,  which,  as  we  are  told,  is 
akin  to  love.  And  yet  we  know  if  the  man  were  to 
rise  to  life  again,  or  if  somebody  exactly  like  him  in 
character  and  position  were  to  pass  by,  immediately 
every  old  jar  would  come  back.  Life  would  rob  him 
at  once  of  the  refining  hue,  it  would  lower  again,  it 
would  vulgarise  again.  A  moment  since  he  was  all 
but  loved,  and  now  he  is  all  but  hated  !  Now  it 
might  be  said,  with  some  justice,  that  this  is  too  wide 
a  contrast  in  the  estimate  of  a  man  for  the  mere  acci- 
dent of  outward  fortune  to  produce ;  that  a  man's 
character  is  not  altered  because  he  is  alive  one  day 
and  dead  another ;  or  because  he  is  in  adversity  one 
day  and  in  prosperity  another ;  and  that  to  attach 
ourselves  to  anger  or  to  pity,  according  as  the  sun 
smiles  upon  a  man  or  the  clouds  gather  round  him  is 
to  be  slaves  to  the  moment,  and  to  make  the  judg- 
ment the  creation  of  mere  accident.  But  taking  the 
compassionate  view  of  man,  as  it  naturally  comes 
before  us,  without  any  stoical  criticism  upon  it,  and 
regarding  it,  as  it  undoubtedly  is,  as  an  extraordinary 
and  in  a  sense  sublime  relief  from  all  the  disturbing 
and  disquieting  forces  of  the  mind,  from  its  pettiness, 
its  jealousy,  its  egotism ;  it  is  still  a  state  of  mind 
which  is  made  for  us,  made  for  us  by  an  event ;  it  is  a 
sheltered  state  of  mind ;  it  is  not  our  own  doing ;  we 
are  protected  in  this  rest  and  tranquillity  of  the  spirits, 


2 1 8  Ottr  Duty  to  Equals. 


in  this  disinterestedness  and  generosity  of  the  temper, 
by  the  circumstances  of  the  case,  which  bind  a  chain 
around  the  passions  and  place  us  for  the  time  under  a 
tranquillising  spell.  Life  is  half  anger,  half  compas- 
sion ;  but  if  the  one  is  a  fault  the  other  is  hardly  our 
own  merit. 

While  then  the  compassionate  or  condescending 
life  of  which  I  was  speaking,  appeals  so  powerfully  to 
its  own  animation,  and  sweetnesses  and  intrinsic  re- 
wards, it  must  not  be  at  the  same  time  wholly  for- 
gotten, that  upon  this  very  side,  and  from  this  very 
source,  arise  its  weakness  and  defects,  as  a  form  and 
sphere  of  discipline.  The  condescending  life  is  a  de- 
voted life,  but  it  is  at  the  same  time  a  protected  life. 
It  is  sheltered  from  trials  which  very  sharply  beset  the 
field  of  equals.  The  poor  and  dependent,  the  mourner, 
the  desponding,  the  cast  down — these  exercise  our 
active  benevolence,  but  do  not  they  unconsciously 
flatter  us  while  they  appeal  to  it ;  the  benefit  is  all  on 
one  side ;  they  are  conscious  of  their  want  of  power  to 
make  a  return,  and  this  want,  though  it  is  the  appro- 
priate blessing  which  accompanies  the  relation,  is  a 
blessing  also,  in  the  case  of  frail  human  benefactors, 
subservient  to  a  weakness.  The  condescension  is  fully 
recognised,  the  superior  is  thought  of,  felt  towards  as 
such ;  as  one  who  comes  down  from  a  higher  sphere,  to 
minister  voluntarily  to  the  inferior ;  this  is  his  posi- 
tion, and  he  cannot  help  it ;  but  it  is  a  shelter  also 
which  follows  him  throughout  his  labours.  He  is  a 
guarded  worker,  guarded  upon  one  side  of  attack  on 
which  he  is  naturally  exposed  in  the  open  world. 


Our  Duty  to  Equals. 


219 


Everything  from  tlie  grateful  soothes — their  looks, 
their  words ;  your  pride  is  safe  ;  they  confess  depend- 
ence ;  and  so  they  unconsciously  confer  exaltation. 
All  gives  way  to  you,  all  praises  you  ;  as  received  into 
the  weak  human  heart  even  gratitude  can  turn  into  a 
subtle  species  of  flattery ;  there  is  a  flattery  even  of 
the  dying.  But  in  the  society  of  equals  it  is  specially 
the  case  that  a  man  is  exposed  to  the  most  terrible 
blows  on  the  very  side  on  which  he  is  sheltered  in  the 
life  of  condescension  ;  upon  the  side  of  his  pride.  He 
starts  in  the  first  place  with  a  less  exalted  position,  in 
a  sphere  of  ordinary  duty,  as  compared  with  a  volun- 
tary and  gratuitous  descent ;  he  has  his  task  set  him  ; 
he  must  do  it  or  he  is  punished.  There  is  undoubtedly 
very  deep  in  human  nature  the  reluctance  to  acting 
upon  compulsion  ;  it  is  disagreeable  to  man ;  yet  it 
would  be  very  unwise  to  say  that  obligation  was  not 
very  salutary  to  man,  as  distinguished  from  that  idea 
which  he  is  so  fond  of, — and  which  constitutes  what 
may  be  called  the  natural  doctrine  of  works  of  super- 
erogation,— that  very  common  idea  between  men  and 
their  own  hearts  that  they  do  more  than  they  strictly 
ought  to  do,  and  that  life  is  with  them  a  great  super- 
abundance and  excess  beyond  the  rule  of  right  and 
duty. 

And  when  we  go  into  particulars :  in  the  life  of 
equals  a  man  enters  upon  a  vast  field  of  relations  in 
which  his  humility  and  his  generosity  pass  tlirough  an 
ordeal  of  special  and  peculiar  severity ;  severity  far 
greater  than  that  which  attaches  to  any  trial  of  them 
in  the  relationship  to  inferiors  ;  for  the  simple  reason 


220 


Our  Duty  to  Equals. 


that  a  man  is  in  competition  with  his  equals,  and  he 
is  not  in  competition  with  his  inferiors.  To  a  super- 
ficial person  it  might  appear  that  the  great  act  of 
humility  was  condescension,  and  that  therefore  the 
condescending  life  was  necessarily  a  more  humble  one 
than  the  life  with  equals.  But  this  is  not  the  true 
view  of  the  case.  The  hardest  trial  of  humility  must 
be  not  towards  a  person  to  whom  you  are  superior, 
and  who  acknowledges  that  superiority,  but  towards  a 
person  with  whom  you  are  on  equal  footing  of  compe- 
tition. In  the  relationship  of  the  superior  to  the  in- 
ferior it  is  the  very  condescension  which  constitutes 
a  satisfaction  to  man's  self-love  ;  by  his  very  con- 
descension, while  he  gives  on  the  one  side  benevolent 
exertion,  frail  man  receives  and  gains  on  the  other  a 
sense  of  superiority.  But  in  the  relationship  of  equals 
this  cannot  be  the  case  ;  where  there  is  competition 
you  yourself  lose  what  you  give  to  another,  you  fall 
yourself  by  how  much  you  raise  another. 

The  relations  to  equals  are  thus  the  more  real  trial 
of  humility  than  the  relations  to  inferiors ;  and  if 
persons  will  examine  into  their  state  of  mind,  they  will, 
I  think,  find  that  their  own  feelings  and  sensations  will 
verify  this  comparison.  The  sense  of  defeat,  the  pangs 
of  wounded  pride,  the  mortification  of  aims  and  aspira- 
tions,— these  witness  to  the  sharp  ordeals  which  the 
life  of  equals  produces ;  while  certainly  if  these  are 
borne  well,  they  constitute  a  safer  guarantee  to  a  real 
humility  of  character  than  any  condescension  to  in- 
feriors in  the  nature  of  the  case  can.  So  that  it  stands 
to  reason  that  humility  is  much  more  tried  by  equals 


Our  Duty  to  Equals. 


221 


than  it  is  by  inferiors.  Do  not  equals  in  fact  make 
the  appropriate,  the  special,  and  the  only  effective 
correction  to  pride  ?  The  individual  in  truth  comes 
into  the  rough  open  air  as  soon  as  he  gets  among  his 
equals.  He  comes  into  contact  with  his  own  weak- 
nesses, and  finds  out  his  own  failings  in  a  way  in 
which  no  condescending  life  could  have  acquainted 
him  with  them.  And  amongst  other  things  he  finds 
out  how  much  harder  it  is  to  be  fair  to  an  equal  than 
ever  so  generous  to  an  inferior.  For  it  is  the  same 
with  generosity  as  it  is  with  humility.  Generosity  is 
more  tried  by  an  equal  than  it  is  by  an  inferior,  for 
the  same  reason  that  it  is  so  with  humility — viz., 
that  you  are  in  competition  with  your  equals,  and 
are  not  in  competition  with  your  inferiors.  We  know 
that  the  great  obstruction  to  generosity  in  our  nature 
is  jealousy — at  least  with  regard  to  such  advantages 
as  touch  our  pride.  It  would  be  easy  to  be  generous  to 
the  intellectual  claims  of  other  people,  to  their  merits, 
to  their  character,  were  there  no  element  of  jealousy  in 
ourselves.  But  compassion  is  relieved  from  this  trial; 
compassion  cannot  be  jealous  ;  its  work  is  with  one  who 
lies  at  its  feet,  who  deprecates  the  slightest  comparison. 
How  generous  then  will  a  man  be  to  the  fallen ;  but  let 
the  man  get  on  his  legs  again,  and  it  will  sometimes  be 
hard  to  him  who  has  been  so  superabundantly  gene- 
rous even  to  be  barely  just.  It  is  thus  that  generosity 
to  an  equal  is  more  difficult  than  generosity  to  an  in- 
ferior. And  while  one  who  condescends  to  another 
beneath  him  is  sheltered  from  all  comparison  and  has 
his  pride  safe,  he  who  is  generous  to  an  equal  is  gene- 


222 


Our  Dtity  to  Equals. 


rous  at  the  risk  of  his  own  loss  and  fall  by  comparison ; 
he  does  him  justice  at  the  cost  of  himself  suffering  for 
it.  There  is  thus  often  a  want  of  generosity  in  the 
apparent  generosity  of  preferring  inferiors  to  equals, 
the  unsuccessful  to  the  successful.  They  are  preferred 
because  they  do  not- come  into  competition  with  you  : 
so  they  must  fail  in  order  to  please  you.  Thus  an 
ungenerous  temper  may  be  easily  fostered  under  the 
guise  of  generous  condescension ;  and  it  is  in  fact  often 
fostered  under  the  pretensions  of  Christian  humility, 
when  a  man  is  exceedingly  desirous  that  everybody 
else  should  undergo  the  benefit  of  humiliation,  and  does 
not  go  very  closely  into  his  own  heart,  to  examine  what 
his  motive  is  in  that  desire. 

And  when  we  go  from  what  a  man  has  to  do  to 
others,  to  what  he  has  to  suffer  from  others,  the  con- 
trast becomes  still  more  marked  between  the  two 
spheres.  The  peculiar  power  which  malice  and  abdity 
together  have  to  inflict  pain  is  one  of  the  familiar 
experiences  which  every  man  must  go  through,  who, 
with  any  activity,  and  ^dth  any  scope  and  object  in 
life,  throws  himself  with  force  and  energy  into  the 
society  of  his  equals.  It  is  only  what  he  must  expect. 
He  must  expect  to  meet  those  who  are  as  able  and  keen- 
witted as  himself,  and  he  must  expect  that  there  will  be 
disagreement,  and  he  must  expect  that  disagreement 
will  bring  out  the  disagreeable  parts  of  men's  characters. 
Misfortune,  adversity,  soften  the  human  heart ;  those 
who  have  fallen,  those  who  have  never  risen,  the  de- 
jDressed,  the  humbled,  are  unconscious  flatterers ;  they 
raise  a  man  on  a  pedestal  to  himself.    Not  so  a  mass 


Our  Duty  to  Eqtials. 


223 


of  struggling  equals  :  even  when  they  do  what  is  quite 
natural  and  right,  they  do  not  do  this ;  it  would  in- 
deed be  very  mischievous  if  they  did.  They  make, 
even  when  perfectly  fair  and  hardly  even  impatient, 
still,  severe  judges.  And  if  their  aims  come  into 
collision  with  your  own,  as  in  a  general  competition 
they  will  do,  this  tries  equity  and  good  temper.  Nor 
need  the  aims  necessarily  relate  to  private  or  selfish 
interests ;  the  contest  of  opinion,  political  or  religious, 
is  enough.  Whence  do  those  grievances  come  which 
prey  upon  men's  spirits,  whence  those  wounded  feel- 
ings, which  last  often  for  life  ?  Can  the  miserable, 
the  feeble,  the  prostrate,  inflict  such  blows?  Those 
sharp  strokes  cannot  come  from  a  quarter  that  we  con- 
descend to ;  they  must  be  then  the  result  of  relations 
with  equals. 

To  leave  the  realm  of  compassion  for  that  of 
equality  is  indeed  to  leave  the  realm  of  peace  for  that 
of  war.  Compassion  is  a  state  of  peace.  It  undoubt- 
edly imposes  its  work,  but  its  relations  are  settled,  its 
feelings  flow  from  the  situation,  emulation  is  over,  the 
issue  has  been  arrived  at,  and  there  is  the  serenity  of 
the  end.  But  cross  over  to  the  world  of  equality,  and 
it  is  a  state  of  war ;  with  unfixed  relations,  with  a 
struggle  of  interests,  with  a  comparison  of  strength, 
and  with  issues  which  have  yet  to  be  decided.  All  is 
uncertain  and  fluctuating,  trembling  on  the  confines 
of  enmity  ;  and  one  man  the  opponent  of  another,  the 
rival  of  another.  There  are  the  concomitants  of  war 
— the  precautions,  the  safeguards,  the  modifications  of 
reserve  and  suspicion. 


224 


Otir  Duty  to  Equals. 


It  is  thus  that  a  life  of  ordinary  and  common  pro- 
bation, which  is  what  a  man  generally  leads  when  he 
lives  with  his  equals,  is  found  when  examined  to  con- 
tain a  powerful  supply  of  the  most  finished  and  subtle 
weapons  of  discipline.  It  is  not  that  this  kind  of  life 
possesses  an  inferior  arsenal,  which  must  be  put  up 
with  if  we  have  not  a  better,  but  which  has  only 
blunted  instruments  of  correction  to  furnish  ;  but  that 
it  has  the  finest  and  largest  collection  of  such  weapons, 
made  with  consummate  skill,  and  adapted  to  every 
want.  Hardly  anybody  need  complain  of  a  defect 
and  scarcity,  however  highly  he  may  value  them. 
This  sphere  of  equals,  that  is  to  say,  a  life  of  common 
trial,  commands  the  sharpest  contradictions  to  human 
feeling,  the  finest  jars,  the  deepest  discords  ;  this  rich 
and  ample  treasury  is  for  ever  renovated  with  fresh 
forces  and  adaptations.  It  is  when  trials  form  part  of 
our  natural  circumstances  that  they  enter  deepest  and 
take  most  hold.  The  trials  of  the  sphere  of  equals 
touch  the  tenderest  parts,  and  apply  the  most  refined 
tests  ;  they  find  out  a  man  the  most  thoroughly.  It  is 
common  life  that  has  the  keenest  and  subtlest  instru- 
ments at  command.  It  might  be  thought  at  first  that 
it  would  be  the  reverse ;  that  the  condescending  life 
would  have  the  sharp  and  finished  tools  for  the  forma- 
tion of  character,  and  that  common  life  would  have  the 
dull  ones  ;  but  in  fact  common  life  has  the  finest 
tools.  And,  whereas,  when  some  special  life  turns  out 
its  workmanship,  it  sometimes  seems  as  if  the  whole 
figure  were  cut  out  with  one  tool — the  face,  the  body, 
the  limbs ;  on  the  other  hand  common  life,  from 


Oiir  Duty  to  Equals.  225 


the  very  variety  and  subtlety  of  its  situations  and  its 
trials — and  from  the  very  fineness  of  its  tools,  turns 
out  the  more  finished  form ;  the  workmanship  has 
more  execution  and  expression  in  it.  We  must  accord 
then  the  condescending  life  its  own  praise,  for  its  own 
devotion  ;  but  we  cannot  give  it  the  superiority  as  an 
engine  of  discipline  and  trial  for  man's  pride,  for  his 
strong  and  passionate  will,  his  tendency  to  idolise  him- 
self, his  vanity,  his  jealousy.  Equals  are  more  than 
inferiors  the  natural  correction  for  self-love.  And 
while  pity  has  certainly  efiects  of  great  beauty  in  its 
own  field,  still  the  palm  of  a  stronger  and  sharper 
correction  may  belong  to  another  sphere  of  training. 

And  as  a  sort  of  vertex  and  climax  of  the  life  of 
equals,  public  or  political  life  has  undoubtedly  great 
and  peculiar  powers  of  discipline.  Here  it  may  be 
said,  with  truth,  there  gathers  to  a  head  all  that  is 
pointed,  strong,  and  effective  in  the  discipline  of  the 
society  of  equals ;  here  there  is  everything  that  can 
force  a  man  out  of  a  narrow  sensitiveness,  out  of  brood- 
ing thoughts,  out  of  weaknesses,  out  of  vanity  and 
egotism,  and  even  against  his  will  strengthen  and 
brace  him.  Here  the  necessity  of  action  is  such  that 
a  man  has  not  the  time  and  leisure  to  acquire  some 
faults  which  certain  defects  of  character  require.  For 
it  is  true  that  some  kinds  of  faults  do  seem  to  require 
quiet  and  leisure  for  their  growth  and  education ; 
and  interruption  disturbs  them.  And  this  public 
life  does  seem  to  exercise  a  kind  of  compulsion 
upon  men ;  so  that  it  will  not  endure  some  forms 
of  the  morbid  temper  in  men,  which  flourish  with  con- 

Q 


226 


Oiir  Ditty  to  Equals. 


siderable  strengtli  upon  more  retired  ground.  Thus 
take  the  principle  of  forgiveness — people  giving  up 
grudges  and  agreeing  to  forget  injuries.  In  what  a 
slow  and  sluggish  stream  does  the  temper  of  forgive- 
ness flow  in  retired  and  remote  regions  of  human  life. 
One  is  almost  obliged  to  substitute,  even  in  the  place 
of  a  stream  of  any  kind,  however  sluggish,  the  meta- 
phor of  a  dull,  a  torpid,  and  a  stagnant  marsh.  It  is 
the  discredit  of  social  life,  in  some  sections  of  it,  that 
injuries,  whether  real  or  fancied,  hardly  ever  are  for- 
given in  it ;  but  that  if  once  off'ence  is  taken  it 
goes  on  for  years  and  never  stops ;  that  it  is  cherished, 
and  becomes  more  fixed  as  it  grows  older ;  and  that  it 
gains  in  passive  strength  and  obstinacy  with  the  pro- 
gress of  time.  But  when  we  turn  to  political  and 
public  life  we  see  that  the  necessities  of  that  life  are 
such  that  they  do  not  admit  of  men  shutting  them- 
selves up  in  grudges,  and  that  men  are  obliged  to 
obey  the  stringent  caU  of  circumstances,  which  requires 
them  to  give  up  whatever  stands  in  the  way  of  salu- 
tary action ;  that  they  are  compelled  to  exert  a  force 
over  themselves,  and  to  bend  their  wills  under  the 
yoke.  Thus  in  pubhc  life  we  see  forgiveness  flowing 
in  large  and  copious  streams,  and  men  agreeing  to  act 
together  again,  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  It  is  an 
astonishing  and  marvellous  spectacle  of  flexibility  as 
compared  with  the  rigid  retention  of  retired  life.  The 
floodgates  of  pardon  are  opened,  as  the  exigencies  of 
party  require ;  and  nothing  is  allowed  to  stand  in  the 
way  of  large,  amj)le,  and  adequate  efiacements  and 
abolitions,  of  the  very  highest  utility,  efi'ecting  the 


Otir  Duty  to  Equals. 


227 


most  important  and  patriotic  objects.  And  though  it 
may  be  said  that  public  forgiveness  is  not  quite  the 
same  as  private ;  and  though  it  may  not  be  the  case 
that  reconciliations  on  this  large  scale  are  universally 
accompanied  by  the  more  tender  sympathies,  and  the 
touching  traits  of  forgiveness  ;  it  is  still  very  striking  to 
see  such  a  subjugation  of  wills,  such  an  acceptance  of 
discipline,  and  such  a  recognition  of  the  fact  that  the 
necessities  of  things  are  against  unforgiveness,  that  it 
must  give  way,  that  there  is  not  room  for  it  in  a  world 
of  action,  and  that  the  good  of  society  is  inconsistent 
with  and  excludes  it.  Such  a  result  is  a  remarkable 
instance  of  the  coincidence  of  two  laws,  a  moral  law 
which  dictates  forgiveness  to  the  heart,  and  a  law  of 
business  and  necessity  on  the  part  of  the  community 
which  demands  it  as  the  condition  of  public  ends. 

The  two  spheres  of  trial  which  have  been  com- 
pared together  in  the  observations  which  I  have  been 
making,  coincide  partially  with  the  two  ideas  of  trial 
which  attach  respectively  to  life  viewed  as  a  mission, 
and  life  viewed  as  a  probation.  These  two  aspects 
indeed  of  life  are  so  far  from  being  in  any  disagree- 
ment with  each  other,  that  they  mutually  involve  each 
other.  It  is  a  part  of  our  probation  to  have  a  duty 
or — if  we  like  the  term  better — a  mission  of  succour 
and  charity ;  a  mission  to  comfort,  to  support,  and 
instruct  others  according  to  their  needs.  And  again 
it  is  part  of  our  mission  in  life  to  encounter  probation 
in  it,  and  to  submit  to  trials,  for  our  own  discipline. 
The  two  ideas  then  are  part  of  the  same  process,  and 
imply  each  other.    And  yet  a  certain  prominence  may 


2  28  Otir  Duty  to  Equals. 


be  given  to  one  of  them  or  to  the  other,  marking 
the  two  as  diflferent  main  ideas  of  life  and  trial 
two  different  persons  may  have.  Persons  may  regard 
themselves  as  having  been  sent  into  the  world  to 
accomplish  certain  public  objects.  They  may  view 
themselves  as  marked  out  for  some  great  charitable 
work ;  or  under  a  special  call  to  make  other  people 
better.  If  they  regard  themselves  then  as  sent  into 
the  world  for  the  benefit  of  the  world,  they  will  think 
of  this  life  mainly  as  a  mission.  On  the  other  hand, 
if  they  contemplate  the  trial  of  life  as  bearing  mainly  on 
themselves,  they  will  then  think  of  it  as  a  probation. 
With  all  our  admiration  then  of  the  more  sanguine 
and  enthusiastic  of  these  two  aspects  of  life,  we  may 
still  look  upon  the  idea  of  probation  as  the  most  rich 
in  lessons  of  experience  and  of  humility, 

I  have  said  that,  in  comparing  the  sphere  of  com- 
passion and  the  field  of  equals  together,  the  one  class 
of  duties  is  more  prominent  in  Scripture  than  the 
other.  The  place  which  works  of  compassion  have  in 
the  Gospel  narrative  and  in  the  constitution  of  the  early 
Church, — besides  particular  precepts, — account  for  this 
prominence.  But  it  is  quite  needless  to  say  the  ordeal 
of  the  sphere  of  equals  is  still  amply  represented  in 
the  New  Testament,  Our  Lord's  own  life  is  abundant 
evidence  of  this.  It  is  particularly  to  be  observed 
that  our  Lord,  though  He  instituted  the  great  exemplar 
of  the  compassionate  or  condescending  life,  had  a  life 
with  equals  which  ran  parallel  to  it ;  I  speak  of  course 
of  equals  in  the  visible  sense ;  the  learned  and  disputa- 
tive  Jews,  the  Pharisees  and  Scribes,  who  had  culti- 


Our  Duty  to  Equals.  229 

vated  systematic  thought,  speculation,  and  doctrine, 
and  led  schools  and  parties,  were  in  outward  appear- 
ance His  equals ;  and  He  stood  in  regard  to  large 
classes  in  a  relationship  to  equals.  We  call  then  our 
Lord's  acts  of  charity  and  pity  works,  and  they  count 
among  His  labours ;  but  were  they  not  also  in  a  still 
truer  sense  refreshments  of  His  Spirit — holy  recreation 
to  Him  ?  Was  not  the  act  of  condescending  compas- 
sion to  the  poor  and  wretched  a  gratification,  a  tran- 
quillising  pause  amid  the  strife  and  toil  ?  He  looked 
round  upon  a  world  of  equals  and  it  was  war — it  was 
the  array  of  hostile  looks,  malice  and  craft,  the  watch- 
ing for  openings,  the  preparation  for  assault.  On  His 
own  part  there  was  the  strain  of  a  constant  caution, 
readiness  to  meet  attack,  vigilance  against  surprise,  and 
aU  the  effort  of  self-defence.  But  when  He  entered  the 
realm  of  compassion,  then  when  the  ear  heard  Him,  it 
blessed  Him,  and  when  the  eye  saw  Him,  it  gave  wit- 
ness to  Him ;  the  blind  cried  to  Him  from  the  way- 
side ;  Zaccheus  watched  for  Him  from  the  sycamore ; 
the  sick  woman  touched  the  hem  of  His  garment ;  He 
was  met  by  the  affectionateness  of  beseeching  looks  and 
supplicating  voices.  Scenes  of  joy  rose  up  all  round 
Him,  the  leper  blazed  abroad  his  cure,  the  blind  man 
glorified  God  for  his  sight,  and  all  the  people  gave  praise 
unto  God.  Could  all  this  be  other  than  a  consolatory 
life,  inserted  in  the  midst  of  a  life  of  contest  and  strife  ? 
When  He  fed  the  five  thousand  in  the  wilderness, 
could  the  satisfying  of  the  hunger  of  such  a  crowd, 
and  supplying  the  natural  wants  of  man,  be  other  than 
a  relief  to  Himself  ?    When  He  sighed  over  the  ears 


230  Our  Duty  to  Equals. 


He  was  going  to  open,  and  said  Ephphatha,  that  sigh 
indeed  expressed  a  sympathetic  sorrow  for  a  world  of 
pain  and  deprivation,  but  the  act  of  restoring  that 
great  faculty,  could  not  be  other  than  grateful  to  the 
Eestorer.  When  He  gave  back  the  son  to  the  mother, 
how  could  that  not  be  a  pleasurable  act  to  Him  ?  And 
when  He  gave  the  news  to  the  people  of  the  house — 
the  damsel  is  not  dead,  but  sleepeth ;  how  could  the 
delivery  of  such  joyful  news  not  be  a  joy  to  Himself? 
If,  by  the  constitution  of  our  nature,  compassion  has  a 
particular  gratification  attending  upon  it,  that  gratifi- 
cation attended  upon  it  in  our  Lord's  case.  These  then 
were  not  His  labours  or  His  toils,  they  were  compara- 
tively His  recreation.  His  pleasure,  and  His  holiday. 
His  life  among  equals,  proclaiming  His  cause  against 
adversaries,  invincible  defiance,  inflexible  will — this 
was  His  hard  work ;  it  was  by  the  struggle  with  equals 
that  the  battle  of  eternal  truth  was  fought;  and  by  this 
He  fulfilled  the  great  trial  of  a  human  life.  The  powers 
of  nature  and  the  powers  of  Hell  were  conquered 
by  His  other  and  miraculous  acts ;  by  this  struggle 
He  conquered  man.  First  in  the  succour  of  man,  first 
in  the  war  with  man,  first  in  both  hemispheres  of 
action,  the  Firstborn  of  Creation  lives  in  the  Gospel,  a 
marvellous  whole,  to  inspire  morality  with  a  new  spirit, 
to  soften  man's  heart,  to  consecrate  his  wealth.  The 
light  of  ages  gathers  round  Him,  He  is  the  centre  of 
the  past,  the  pledge  of  a  future ;  the  great  Character 
marches  through  time  to  collect  souls  about  it,  to  found 
new  empires  for  the  truth,  and  to  convert  the  whole 
earth  to  the  knowledge  of  the  Lord. 


THE   PEACEFUL  TEMPER. 


Hebrews  xii.  14. 

"  Follow  peace  with  all  men,  and  holiness,  without  which  no  man 
shall  see  the  Lord." 

rpHERE  are  many  particular  duties  in  which  Chris- 
-■-  tianity  and  worldly  wisdom  meet,  both  recom- 
mending the  same  course.  One  of  these  is  the  duty 
mentioned  in  the  text,  viz.,  that  of  being  at  peace  with 
others.  A  wise  adviser  of  this  world  tells  any  one  who 
consults  him  as  to  his  conduct  in  life,  to  beware  espe- 
cially of  getting  into  quarrels  with  people.  He  tells 
him  more  than  this.  He  tells  him  not  only  to  avoid 
actual  quarrels,  but  to  cultivate  a  peaceful  temper. 
The  Gospel  tells  us  to  do  the  same.  It  is  one  of  the 
most  frequent  maxims  in  the  New  Testament.  The 
advice  is  the  same,  though  the  reason  of  it  is  different, 
as  a  piece  of  worldly  wisdom,  and  as  a  Christian  pre- 
cept. The  reason  which  worldly  prudence  suggests, 
is  the  quiet  and  happiness  of  life,  which  are  interfered 
with  by  relations  of  enmity  to  others.  The  reason 
which  religion  gives  is  the  duty  of  brotherly-love,  of 
which  the  peaceful  disposition  is  a  part.  But  the  fre- 
quency of  the  advice,  under  either  aspect,  is  remark- 
able, and  shows  that  there  is  some  strong  prevailing 
tendency  in  human  nature  to  which  it  is  opposed.  Let 


232  The  Peaceful  Temper. 


us  then  examine  what  this  tendency  is,  and  we  shall 
be  able  better  to  see  what  that  state  of  mind  is  which  is 
the  opposite  of  it,  and  which  ought  to  take  its  place. 

AVhen  we  examine,  then,  the  tempers  of  men,  to  see 
what  there  is  in  them  which  is  so  strongly  opposed  to 
this  precept  of  following  peace,  the  first  thing  we  observe 
is,  that  people  rush  into  quarrels  from  simple  violence 
and  impetuosity  of  temper,  which  prevents  them  from 
waiting  a  single  minute  to  examine  the  merits  of  the 
case,  and  the  facts  of  the  case,  but  carries  them  for- 
ward possessed  with  a  blind  partiality  in  their  own 
favour,  and  seeing  nothing  but  what  favours  their  own 
side.  This  is  perhaps  the  most  prominent  and  conspi- 
cuous antagonist  to  peace  and  the  peaceful  disposition. 
Again,  there  is  the  malignant  temper,  which  fastens 
vindictively  upon  particular  persons,  who  have  been 
either  the  real  or  supposed  authors  of  some  disadvan- 
tage. Men  of  this  character  pursue  a  grudge  unceas- 
ingly, and  never  forget  or  forgive.  They  often  set 
themselves  to  work  to  do  somebody,  whoever  it  is,  to 
whom  they  bear  this  grudge,  some  positive  harm  ;  and 
even  when  they  do  not  enter  upon  a  regular  plan  of 
revenge,  they  make  use  of  any  opportunity  that  falls 
in  their  way  to  spite  him.  This  is  another  and  a 
worse  source  of  the  relation  of  enmity,  a  more  irre- 
concilable foe  to  peace  than  even  blind  impetuosity. 

But  impetuosity  and  malignity  are  not  the  only 
tempers  which  are  opposed  to  the  law  of  peace,  and  to 
the  peaceful  disposition.  There  are  some  very  common 
habits  of  mind,  which,  without  being  so  conspicuous 
and  decided  in  their  manifestations,  lead  to  a  great  deal 


The  Peaceful  Temper. 


233 


of  enmity  of  a  certain  kind — sometimes  open  enmity, 
sometimes,  when  this  is  avoided,  still  to  bad  relations 
towards  others.  There  are  many  persons  who  can  never 
be  neutral  or  support  a  middle  state  of  mind.  If  they 
do  not  positively  like  others,  they  will  see  some  reason 
for  disliking  them  ;  they  will  be  irritable  if  they  are 
not  pleased ;  they  wiU  be  enemies  if  they  are  not 
friends.  They  cannot  bear  to  be  in  an  attitude  of  mind 
which  does  not  give  active  employment  to  the  feelings 
on  one  side  or  the  other.  They  are  not  so  unreason- 
able as  to  expect  that  they  can  like  persons  without 
knowing  them ;  but,  if  they  know  them,  if  they  meet 
them,  if  they  live  near  them,  if  they  see  them  often,  if 
they  have  dealings  with  them,  and  still  do  not  like 
them ;  that  is,  do  not  see  in  them  that  which  meets 
their  taste — are  not  taken  by  anything  in  their  charac- 
ter,— then  they  put  themselves  in  a  hostile  relation  to 
those  persons.  They  see  a  cause  of  provocation  in  the 
mere  circumstance  that  there  is  nothing  to  engage  and 
win.  And  some  will  confess  this  of  themselves,  and 
confess  it  with  a  kind  of  pride,  that  they  must  either 
love  or  hate,  either  be  friends  or  foes.  It  seems  to 
themselves  to  be  the  sign  of  a  generous  character  always 
to  have  positive  feeling  either  for  or  against.  This 
rule,  then,  of  their  own,  has  the  necessary  result  of 
placing  them  in  a  kind  of  enmity  towards  numbers  of 
persons  to  whom  there  is  not  the  slightest  real  reason 
for  feeling  it,  towards  those  who  have  done  them  no 
harm,  and  whose  fault  simply  is,  that  they  do  not 
please  or  suit  them.  But  it  is  so  irksome  to  them  to 
maintain  an  indifference  and  neutrality  that  they 


234 


The  Peaceful  Temper. 


cannot  bring  themselves  to  acquiesce  in  what  are,  after 
all,  the  real  facts  of  the  case,  which  no  partial  or  fan- 
ciful rule  of  their  own  can  alter.  They  cannot  say  to 
themselves, — I  see  nothing  in  these  persons  that  com- 
mends itself  particularly,  and  therefore  I  do  not  go  so 
far  as  to  entertain  strong  feelings  for  them;  on  the  other 
hand,  there  is  nothing  to  give  actual  offence,  and  there- 
fore there  is  no  reason  whatever  why  I  should  enter- 
tain feelings  against  them.  I  will  take  care,  therefore, 
that  my  feelings  shall  correspond  to  the  facts  of  the 
case,  and  though  I  cannot  make  friends  of  them  there 
shall  at  any  rate  be  no  enmity.  This  rule  accords  with 
the  facts  of  the  case  ;  the  other  rule,  which  they  take, 
is  fanciful  and  arbitrary, — that  of  a  summary  alterna- 
tive of  friendship  or  enmity.  It  is  often,  however, 
affectionate  and  warm-hearted  tempers  that  adopt  this 
rule.  They  enjoy  the  sympathy  of  kindred  souls,  the 
answering  of  heart  to  heart ;  but  if  they  do  not  meet 
with  sympathy,  then  the  blank  is  not  only  disappoint- 
ing to  them  but  irritating.  Then  they  relapse  into 
enmity,  as  if  they  were  ill-used  because  they  were  not 
suited.  There  is  something  imperious,  if  we  examine 
it,  in  this  rule  ;  it  is  as  much  as  to  say — What  do  these 
persons  mean  by  not  pleasing  and  fitting  in  to  my 
taste.  On  this  principle  many  of  their  neighbours  are 
eyesores  to  them,  and  the  very  sight  of  them  inter- 
rupts their  repose,  when  there  is  no  real  occasion  for 
any  such  feelings;  inasmuch  as,  if  they  have  furnished 
no  cause  for  pleasure,  they  have  not  furnished  any 
cause  for  pain  either. 

Such  is  the  arbitrary  and    fanciful  rule  which 


The  Peaceful  Temper.  235 


people  sometimes  lay  down  for  themselves  in  their 
relations  with  others.  And  now,  what  I  want  to  ob- 
serve is,  how  completely  this  rule  is  opposed  to  the 
law  which  the  Apostle  lays  down,  of  "  following  peace 
with  all  men."  When  we  examine  what  the  relation 
of  peace  is,  we  find  that  it  is  exactly  that  relation  to- 
ward others  which  the  temper  I  have  described  has 
such  a  dijQ&culty  in  adopting,  and  which  is  so  re- 
pugnant to  its  taste.  A  state  of  peace,  which  is 
neither  less  nor  more  than  peace,  is  this  middle  state 
to  which  such  objection  is  made.  It  is  not  a  state  of 
active  love  and  affection,  for  these  we  do  not  call  being 
at  peace,  but  something  more ;  nor  is  it  a  state  which 
admits  of  any  ill-feeling  ;  but  it  lies  between  the  two, 
comprehending  all  kindly  intentions,  forbidding  the 
least  wish  for  another's  injury,  avoiding,  as  much  as 
possible,  dispute  and  occasion  of  offence  ;  consulting 
order,  quiet,  and  contentment,  but  not  arriving  at 
more  than  this.  This  is  the  state  of  thing  which  we 
call  being  at  peace  with  others.  If  we  have  the  least 
wish,  though  we  hardly  express  it  to  ourselves,  for  an- 
other person's  harm,  if  we  have  the  least  resentful 
motive  toward  him,  that  is  enmity ;  then  we  are  not 
at  peace  with  him.  Peace  impHes  the  entire  absence 
of  positive  ill  will.  The  Apostle  then  says  that  this 
is  our  proper  relation  toward  all  men.  More  than  this 
applies  to  some,  but  as  much  as  this  applies  to  all. 
He  would  have  us  embrace  all  men  within  our  love, 
so  far  as  to  be  in  concord  with  them,  not  to  be  sepa- 
rated from  them.  Separation  is  inconsistent  with 
Christian  membership.    On  the  other  hand,  he  knows 


236  The  Peace  fid  Temper. 


that  more  than  this  must,  by  the  limitation  of  our 
nature,  apply  to  the  few  rather  than  to  the  mass  and 
multitude;  he  fixes  then  upon  this,  nothing  higher 
and  nothing  lower  ;  he  fixes  upon  the  middle  ground 
of  peace  as  our  proper  relation  towards  the  many. 
Be  in  fellowship,  he  says,  with  all  men,  so  far  as  to 
have  nothing  Avrong  in  your  relation  to  them,  nothing 
to  disunite  :  follow  peace  with  all  men. 

Is  any  other  principle  of  conduct  and  kind  of  temper 
indeed  jit  for  tliis  world  in  which  we  live  ?  Whatever 
those  who  adopt  the  other  course  may  say,  there  is  no 
room  for  it  in  the  state  of  things  in  which  we  are  placed. 
It  jars  with  the  whole  frame  of  things.  There  are  so 
many  obstacles  to  mutual  understanding  in  this  world, 
and  so  very  thin  a  veil  is  enough  to  hide  people  from 
each  other,  that  if  the  line  is  adopted  of  being  in  half 
or  incipient  enmity  towards  all  who  do  not  reveal  them- 
selves in  an  attractive  and  amiable  light  to  us,  we  shall 
be  in  this  unfavourable  relation  towards  by  far  the 
greater  part  of  society ;  some  probably  of  excellent 
character,  whose  higher  qualities  are  unhappily  hid 
from  us.  The  great  mass  of  those  even  whom  we 
know  and  meet  with  in  the  intercourse  and  business 
of  life  must  be  comparatively  nothing  to  us.  More 
than  this,  they  must  be  often  persons — even  those 
whom  we  are  constantly  meeting  must  be  persons — 
who  are  not  made  after  a  model  that  we  like,  persons 
who  do  not  sympathise  with  us  or  elicit  sympathy 
from  us.  True  and  genuine  intercourse  and  communi- 
cation between  minds,  if  it  could  be  obtained,  might 
clear  up  a  good  deal  of  this  cloud,  and  remove  the 


The  Peaceful  Temper. 


237 


barrier  which  separates  one  man  from  another ;  but 
this  is  not  given,  and  if  it  were,  there  still  remain  dis- 
similarity of  tempers,  gifts,  and  tastes.  The  Apostle 
then  lays  down  a  plain  rule  with  respect  to  the  whole  of 
this  large  section — viz.,  to  be  at  peace  with  them.  But 
what  is  their  rule  who  will  have  no  medium  between 
love  and  enmity?  It  is  a  rule  which  evidently  places 
them  in  a  kind  of  enmity  with  all  such  as  these,  i.e., 
with  by  far  the  greater  number  of  people  with  whom 
they  have  to  do,  the  great  majority  of  their  neigh- 
bours, the  larger  part  of  those  whom  they  are  con- 
stantly seeing.  If  not  in  open,  they  are  in  secret  half 
enmity  with  vast  numbers,  inwardly  judging  them  and 
warring  with  them  in  their  thoughts.  They  are  not 
at  peace  with  them  because  they  discard  a  middle  and 
neutral  relation  as  lukewarm  and  not  suited  to  them. 
But  this  is  exactly  the  relation  which  the  Apostle  has 
in  his  mind  when  he  enjoins  peace ;  he  contemplates 
this  very  neutral  and  middle  state  they  so  much  object 
to. 

I  have  shown  that  there  is  a  kind  of  temper  and 
disposition  which,  without  impetuosity,  and  without 
malignity,  is  still  in  opposition  to  the  law  of  peace, 
and  does  in  fact  produce  a  great  deal  of  latent,  if  not 
open  enmity,  in  the  world.  I  wiU  now  mention  one 
or  two  reasons  which  have  a  great  deal  to  do  in  pro- 
moting this  temper.  In  the  first  place,  it  is  very 
irksome  to  keep  watch  over  ourselves,  and  to  repel  the 
intrusion  of  hostile  thoughts  by  the  simple  resistance  of 
conscience,  when  we  are  not  assisted  by  any  strong 
current  of  natural  feeling  in  doing  so.     This  is  a 


238 


The  Peaceful  Temper. 


difficult  duty.  But  those  who  say  that  they  either 
like  or  dislike,  avoid  and  evade  this  duty.  They  only 
keep  away  hostile  feelings  when,  in  fact,  this  is  done 
for  them  ;  when  a  strong  favouring  bias,  a  strong  cur- 
rent of  partiality  in  their  minds,  of  itself  excludes  such 
feelings.  The  duty  is  under  these  circumstances  easy 
of  being  at  peace ;  but  to  be  at  peace  where  there  is 
no  partiality  is  not  so  easy.  It  is  necessary  then  to 
keep  guard  against  the  foe,  who,  seeing  that  the  heart 
is  not  preoccupied  with  a  positive  preference,  struggles 
to  gain  admission  into  it  for  what  is  hostile.  When  a 
person  then  resolves  either  to  like  or  dislike,  this,  in- 
stead of  being  generosity  is  in  reahty  escaping  a  trial, 
avoiding  a  duty  which  would  be  irksome  to  him.  Is 
he  not  slipping  his  neck  from  the  yoke,  and  throwing, 
off  the  posture  of  watch  over  himself  ?  He  says  he  is 
always  at  peace  with  another  when  he  is  partial  to 
another.  Of  course  he  is,  his  own  bias  then  keeps  out 
enmity ;  but  it  is  keeping  it  out  when  he  has  not  this 
bias  that  constitutes  the  trial. 

Another  reason  which  tends  to  keep  up  the  dis- 
position which  I  have  been  describing  is,  that  the  hostile 
class  of  relations  are  evidently  accompanied  by  their 
own  pleasures  in  many  temperaments.  They  furnish 
an  excitement  to  them  ;  and,  at  the  bottom,  they  pre- 
fer it  to  a  state  of  peace  on  this  account,  because  there 
is  agitation  and  a  flutter  of  spirits  in  this  relation  ; 
whereas  peace  is  repose,  and  does  not  offer  this  play 
to  the  mind  and  temper.  There  is  a  kind  of  interest 
which  people  take  in  their  own  grievances,  their  own 
grudges,  their  own  causes  of  offence  at  various  people, 


The  Peaceful  Temper.  239 


their  own  discords  and  animosities,  whicli  occupies 
their  thought — it  must  candidly  be  said — in  a  manner 
not  disagreeable  to  themselves.  They  enjoy  these 
states  of  mind  towards  others  in  their  own  way.  They 
summon  the  recollections  of  different  occasions  on 
which,  in  their  own  opinion,  their  rights  were  neglected 
and  their  merits  depreciated.  They  live  in  an  universal 
atmosphere  of  contest,  but  they  derive  a  certain  grati- 
fication from  it.  Life  is  relieved  of  its  tameness  and 
tediousness ;  it  is  filled  with  material  of  interest  of  a 
certain  kind,  which  acts  as  a  stimulus  to  the  mind,  and 
promotes  the  play  of  various  emotions.  All  this  is 
really  more  pleasant  to  many  people  than  peace  and 
quiet.  They  would  rather  a  great  deal  be  in  a  state  of 
irritation  with  any  person  for  any  reason,  than  feel  at 
all  dull.  To  be  dull  is  the  greatest  trial  to  them. 
They  will  stir  up  the  scene  at  any  rate,  even  at  the 
cost  of  renewing  vexatious  subjects.  It  breaks  the 
level  of  life  ;  it  varies  the  flatness  of  it.  It  is  a  stimu- 
lant ;  it  keeps  the  spirits  in  motion.  So,  too,  is  the 
justification  of  dislike ;  the  exj)lanation  how  it  arose  and 
was  called  for.  All  this  is  much  more  to  the  taste  of 
many  than  being  at  peace.  They  are  not  conscious  of 
any  deep  malignity,  but  they  derive  a  pleasure  still 
from  the  disturbance  of  the  ground,  the  agitation  of 
the  elements  of  life,  which  they  take  care  shall  not  sub- 
side into  complete  repose.  In  the  feeling  of  provocation, 
if  there  is  not  always  the  sense  of  victory,  there  is  at 
any  rate  always  the  sense  of  the  right  to  victory.  This 
is  better  than  nothing,  and  they  will  keep  alive  the 
sense  of  so  important  a  right.    There  shall  always  be 


240  The  Peaceful  Temper. 


something  stirring  to  bring  it  forward,  some  occasion 
for  reminding  themselves  how  much  reparation  they 
deserve  at  the  hand  of  others. 

It  was  with  the  entire  knowledge  of  these  weak- 
nesses and  frailties  of  human  nature,  and  these  ele- 
ments of  disturbance,  even  in  minds  of  average  good- 
ness, that  St.  Paul  said — "  Follow  peace  with  all  men." 
You  must  not,  he  says,  be  at  peace  only  "vs'ith  those  to 
whom  you  are  partial;  that  is  easy  enough ;  you  must 
be  at  peace  with  those  toward  whom  you  entertain  no 
partiality,  who  do  not  perhaps  please  you,  or  suit  you. 
That  is  the  rule  of  peace  which  the  Gospel  lays  down, 
and  it  must  be  fulfilled  by  standing  guard  at  the  en- 
trance of  our  hearts,  and  keeping  ofi"  intruding  thoughts. 
And  he  says  again  that  we  must  not  seek  excitement 
from  the  petty  quarrels  and  discords  of  life,  from  pre- 
judice and  antipathies,  and  the  commotion  which  is 
bred  out  of  them.  This  is  a  poor  and  morbid  pleasure 
which  impoverishes  and  lowers  every  mind  that  indulges 
in  it.  Peace,  he  says,  is  our  proper  relation  to  all  men. 
There  is  no  reason  why,  as  far  as  we  are  concerned,  we 
should  not  be  at  peace  with  everybody.  If  even  they 
are  not  at  peace  with  us  we  may  be  at  peace  with 
them.  Let  them  look  to  their  own  hearts,  we  have 
only  to  do  with  our  own.  Let  us  "  follow  peace  with 
all  men  and  holiness,  without  which  no  man  shall  see  the 
Lord."  It  is  not  without  design  that  these  two  were 
connected  together  by  the  Apostle — following  peace 
and  holiness.  A  life  of  enmities  is  greatly  in  opposi- 
tion to  growth  in  hoKness.  All  that  commotion  of 
petty  animosity  in  which  some  people  live,  is  very 


The  Peaceful  Temper.  241 


lowering,  it  dwarfs  and  stunts  the  spiritual  growth  of 
persons.  Their  spiritual  station  becomes  less  and  less, 
in  God's  sight  and  in  man's.  In  a  state  of  peace  the 
soul  lives  as  in  a  watered  garden,  where,  under  the 
watchful  eye  of  the  Divine  Source,  the  plant  grows  and 
strengthens.  All  religious  habits  and  duties, — prayer, 
charity,  and  mercy,  are  formed  and  matured  when  the 
man  is  in  a  state  of  peace  with  others — with  all  men  ; 
when  he  is  not  agitated  by  small  selfish  excitements 
and  interests  which  divert  him  from  himself  and  his 
own  path  of  duty,  but  can  think  of  himself,  what  he 
ought  to  do,  and  where  he  is  goiog.  He  can  then  live 
seriously,  calmly,  and  wisely ;  but  there  is  an  end  to 
all  religious  progress  when  a  man's  whole  mind  is 
taken  up  in  the  morbid  excitement  of  small  enmities, 
when  he  derives  gratification  from  these  jarring  rela- 
tions to  others.  He  ceases  to  reflect  upon  himself  and 
to  work  out  his  own  salvation ;  his  thoughts  and  his 
cares  are  frittered  away  upon  trifles.  He  does  not  follow 
peace,  and  therefore  he  does  not  follow  holiness.  Let 
him  change  all  this,  throw  ofi"  these  humiliating  chains, 
and  set  himself  once  and  for  all  free  for  serving  God, 
watching  his  own  heart,  doing  good  to  his  neighbour, 
and  raising  his  own  soul. 


R 


THE   STRENGTH   OF  WISHES. 


Matthew  vii.  7,  8. 

"  Ask,  and  it  shall  he  given  you;  seek,  and  ye  shall  find;  knock,  and  it 
sJuiU  be  opened  unto  you  :  for  every  one  that  asketh  receiveth;  and 
he  that  seeketh  findeth ;  and  to  Mm  tliat  knocketh  it  shall  be 
opened." 

QCRIPTURE  insists  much  on  the  power  of  strong 
^  wishes  in  spiritual  things.  Its  language  is — if 
men  really  wish  to  be  good,  they  will  become  good ;  if 
they  really  wish  for  faith,  they  will  get  faith  ;  if  they 
really  wish  to  have  habitual  seriousness,  they  will  gain 
habitual  seriousness;  if  they  really  wish  to  realise  God's 
presence,  they  \n\[  in  time  do  so.  The  power  of  prayer, 
which  is  so  much  taught  in  Scripture,  is  in  fact  the 
power  of  strong  wishes  ;  wishes  are  prayers,  if  men  be- 
lieve in  God,  and  if  their  wishes  are  formed  around  His 
Presence.  And  so  the  text  certifies  in  truth  to  the 
power  of  strong  wishes.  Ask,  and  it  shall  be  given 
you ;  seek,  and  ye  shall  find ;  knock,  and  it  shall  be 
opened  unto  you.  Asking,  seeking,  knocking — all 
these  express  earnest  ^dshes  of  the  heart,  which  have 
put  themselves  in  the  shape  of  addresses  to  God.  If 
we  do  not  become  believing,  or  serious  Christians, 
Scripture  says  it  is  because  we  have  no  real  "U'ish  to 


The  Strength  of  Wishes. 


243 


become  so.  We  do  not  ask,  or  seek,  or  knock  ;  if  we 
did  we  slioukl  obtain. 

Let  us  only  think  of  the  keenness  and  force  of  the 
wishes  we  form  with  respect  to  various  temporal  ad- 
vantages, whether  of  mind  or  outward  fortune.  What 
acute  wishes  are  raised  in  many  persons'  minds  by 
the  sight  of  any  great  eminence,  or  splendour,  or 
grandeur,  in  human  stations.  How  does  any  pompous 
spectacle  set  many  hearts  at  once  wishing  for  and 
dreaming  of  greatness  of  some  sort  or  other !  And 
though  these  are  often  mere  volatile  day-dreams,  still 
the  wishes  are  strong  though  the  acting  power  is  weak  ; 
and  sometimes  deep  desires  are  formed,  which  become 
fixed  and  powerful  impulses,  propelling  men  to  the 
acquisition  of  what  they  desire.  So  with  respect  to 
mental  gifts.  How  common  it  is  for  men  to  indulge 
their  thoughts  in  imagining  themselves  possessing  gifts 
which  they  have  not.  Upon  hearing  of  some  eloquent 
speech,  of  some  bright  stroke  of  wit,  some  readiness, 
some  quickness  of  reply,  some  act  of  penetration,  how 
do  they  long  for  such  faculties  ;  what  would  they  give 
to  be  able  to  achieve  such  feats  of  mind  !  It  must  be 
observed  what  imitative  creatures  men  are,  and  how, 
upon  seeing  particular  gifts  and  aptnesses  in  others, 
they  fasten  upon  them  at  once  as  objects  of  desire  for 
themselves.  The  coming  across  them  puts  the  idea 
into  their  heads,  —  what,  if  they  too  had  these  gifts  ; 
and  this  sets  them  wishing.  Thus  the  quantity  of  imi- 
tation which  we  see  in  the  world ; — people  trying  to  be 
what  they  see  certain  other  persons  to  be,  and  expending 
themselves  in  efforts  which  are  fruitless,  and  sometimes 


244  Strength  of  IVishes. 


injurious  :  all  this  is  a  sure  indication  of  the  strong 
wishes  which  the  human  heart  forms  for  ability  to 
do  particular  things  which  others  do ;  which  strike  or 
please  others.  Men  are  like  the  children  of  a  town 
in  which  some  jugglers,  or  performers  of  curious  bodily 
feats,  have  been  exhibiting ;  the  children  are  seen  im- 
mediately, in  all  the  streets,  imitating  the  extraordi- 
nary performances  they  have  seen,  obviously  having 
caught  the  inoculation  of  the  recent  spectacle,  and 
being  bitten  by  the  desire  to  do  something  which  will 
have  a  likeness  to  it.  So  does  the  sight  of  success  in 
any  human  faculties ; — in  any  particular  kind  of  address, 
or  in  science,  or  art,  or  manner, — stir  up  at  once  the 
natural  emulation  of  the  human  heart,  and  set  men 
thinking  and  dreaming  of  it,  and  wishing  it  for  them- 
selves. And  so  with  the  persuasiveness  and  attractive- 
ness of  different  objects  for  different  minds.  AVho  can 
live  in  the  world  without  becoming  aware  that  the  very 
air  which  surrounds  him  is  cut  through  in  all  directions 
l)y  wishes,  eager,  impetuous  wishes  :  wishes — happy 
or  sad,  according  as  they  promise  or  not  their  own  ful- 
filment— flying  like  spirits  and  invisible  messengers  in 
all  directions.  And  of  this  innumerable  host  of  wishes, 
which  constitute,  we  may  almost  say,  human  nature, 
there  is  hardly  one  which  does  not  affect  us  morally. 
What  tests  of  our  character  are  our  wishes  !  Sometimes 
surer  tests  than  our  acts.  We  act  formally — conven- 
tionally. Our  wishes  show  our  hearts.  Are  there  not 
occasions  in  life  in  which  some  secret  wish  which  we 
have  is  one  of  the  deepest  of  inward  sins,  lowering  us 
more  than  many  outward  offences  would  do. 


The  Strength  of  Wishes. 


245 


What  then  if  people,  instead  of  wishing  for  wit,  or 
quickness,  or  dexterity,  or  other  such  gifts,  with  tliat 
sharpness  of  desire  they  do,  could  from  the  heart  wish 
that  they  were  religious ;  that  they  had  religious  affec- 
tions, that  they  had  the  serious  apprehension  of  the 
truth  of  religion,  that  they  could  believe  thoroughly  in 
another  world,  and  in  God's  promises  with  respect  to  it, 
— the  teaching  of  Scripture  is  that  the  strong  wish  for 
this  state  of  mind  will  be  itself  the  means  of  obtaining 
it.  Only  wish  for  this  spiritual  temj^er  really  and 
steadily,  and  your  wish  will  fulfil  itself.  Wish  de- 
voutly, not  as  if  your  own  will  and  power  could  ac- 
complish the  wish,  but  under  a  deep  sense  of  the  power 
of  God  to  work  what  He  will  within  us,  and  to  move  us 
from  the  bottom  of  our  hearts  to  good,  and  your  wish 
will  be  fulfilled.  But  the  truth  is  that  people  have  not 
in  their  hearts  any  strong  wish  for  religious  faith  and 
affections  to  begin  with.  They  think  of  these  qualities 
generally  as  being  advantageous  and  right ;  but  they 
cannot  form  in  their  mind  the  strong  and  real  wish 
that  they  themselves  personally  should  possess  them. 
They  do  not  eml^race  the  advantage  of  them  with  that 
sensiliility  and  force  which  is  necessary  for  making  them 
the  object  of  a  strong  wish,  they  recognise  perhaps  a 
great  deal  of  position  and  sensible  gain,  even  in  the  way 
of  present  comfort  and  relief,  in  possessing  faith.  For 
faith  is  not  only  an  excellent  gift,  a  sublime  gift,  but 
it  is  a  gift  full  of  present  happiness  ;  so  much  so,  that 
even  a  worldly  man  will  see  sometimes  by  his  mere 
worldly  sense,  that  if  he  had  faith  he  would  have  a 
great  deal  to  make  him  happy  which  he  has  not  now, 


246 


The  Strength  of  Wishes. 


and  sometimes  he  will  say  that  he  wishes  he  had  faith, 
and  that  he  envies  those  that  have.  For  let  us  only  set 
liefore  us  what  we  now  gain  by  it ;  what  comfort  with 
respect  to  the  future ;  what  hopes,  what  prosperity. 
The  Apostle  speaks  of  those  who  by  reason  of  death 
are  all  their  life  long  subject  to  bondage ;  and  the 
description  applies  to  men  of  the  world,  even  when 
most  successful.  They  continue,  it  is  true,  to  keep  up 
an  excitement  and  interest  in  the  objects  of  life,  and 
yet  there  is  a  blank  feeling  at  the  bottom  that  there  is 
an  end  of  it  all.  Faith  would  give  them  a  world  be- 
yond this  one  to  look  forward  to.  Why  then  can- 
not faith,  if  it  can  do  so  much  for  our  happiness,  be 
made  the  object  of  a  strong  wish  ?  Why  cannot  a 
man,  not  as  a  desultory  and  half  mocking  expression, 
but  as  a  real  longing  of  his  heart,  say — Ah,  that  I  had 
faith !  The  truth  is  he  cannot,  in  the  state  of  mind 
in  which  he  is.  He  cannot  even  seriously  or  heartily 
wish  for  faith.  His  desires  are  preoccupied  with  this 
world  ;  they  are  so  completely  engaged  upon  success  in 
life,  and  the  objects  he  is  pursuing,  that  he  cannot  even 
form  the  wish  for  a  spiritual  faculty  or  a  spiritual  en- 
joyment. He  cannot  bring  himself  to  care  about  it. 
Whereas,  for  the  wish  for  faith  and  religious  aflfections 
to  be  successful,  it  must  be  the  first  wish  of  the  heart. 
Eeligion,  while  it  promises  so  much,  takes  high  ground 
in  its  conditions ;  it  must  be  felt  as  the  first  want,  as 
an  imperious  need  of  the  soul,  otherwise  the  wish  for 
it  does  nothing,  and  has  no  power.  To  desire  it  along 
with  earthly  oljjects  and  on  a  par  with  them,  is  not 
the  wish  to  which  the  promise  is  given,  and  which  has 


The  Strength  of  Wis  lies. 


247 


been  described  as  being  self-fulfilling.  No,  it  must 
have  the  first  rank  as  a  wish,  or  it  has  none.  If 
there  is  any  other  desire  of  the  soul  which  takes  pre- 
cedence of  it,  it  is  supplanted.  But  how  can  a  man, 
in  a  worldly  state  of  mind,  give  this  rank  or  this  place 
in  his  mind  to  the  wish  to  be  religious  ?  He  cannot. 
It  is  a  contradiction  that  he  should.  He  desires  as 
well  as  acts  in  chains.  He  is  not  free  even  to  wish  for 
what  is  best  for  him ;  for  what  would  give  him  true 
happiness. 

More  than  this  ;  does  not  a  worldly  man,  while  he 
continues  such,  actually  even  shrink  from  wishing  for 
such  a  change  in  himself  as  would  strip  him  of  his 
strong  worldly  affections,  and  endow  him  with  spiritual 
ones  instead  ?  Does  he  not  regard  such  a  change 
beforehand  as  a  kind  of  death,  as  if  it  would  deprive 
him  of  all  the  living  and  strong  interests  of  which  he 
finds  himself  now  possessed,  and  leave  him  only  a  cold 
and  vacant  life  to  live ;  a  life  hardly  worthy  the 
name  ?  Without  the  stimulus,  and  the  eager  pursuit 
of  worldly  objects,  what  is  life  to  him.  It  presents 
itself  to  him  as  a  state  of  impassivity  and  emptiness, 
with  nothing  solid  in  it.  But  if  spirituality  of  mind 
does  extract  all  this  eager  pursuit  of  worldly  ends 
from  life,  he  is  almost  afraid,  in  his'  worldly  state  of 
mind,  even  of  wishing  himself  spiritual ;  afraid,  for  fear 
his  wish  should  be  granted ;  and  he  should  really  be 
changed  into  something  diff"crent  from  what  he  is  now  ; 
be  made  another  person  of.  He  clings  to  his  present 
old  self,  as  his  real  and  true  self;  he  dreads  being 
made  new,  as  if  the  new  man  would  be  another  man, 


248 


The  Strength  of  Wishes. 


and  he  himself  would  be  dead  in  the  transition.  So 
deep  is  the  instinctive  feeling  in  the  human  mind,  of  the 
power  of  a  real  wish  in  spiritual  things,  that  a  worldly 
man  rejects  it  and  puts  it  from  him,  should  it  casually 
occur  to  him,  as  if  it  would  be  only  too  sure  to  effect 
the  change  in  him,  if  it  stayed ;  and  he  does  not  want 
to  be  changed. 

And  yet  is  this  anything  more  than  sterling  justice 
on  God's  part,  His  requiring  it  as  the  condition  of  im- 
parting His  converting  and  renewing  grace  to  man, 
that  man  should  at  any  rate  wish  for  it  before  he  re- 
ceives it  ?   Take  a  man  who  does  not  believe, — does  not 
really  believe;  is  it  anything  else  but  fair,  as  a  condition, 
that  he  should  wish  to  have  faith,  before  he  obtains 
faith  ?    God  is  indeed  so  gracious  that  he  gives  man 
faith  and  a  religious  spirit  upon  his  asking  for  it ;  but 
is  it  too  much  to  require  that  he  should  first  ask  for 
it  ?    There  is  a  justice,  there  is  a  fairness  in  this  pro- 
ceeding, which  must  recommend  itself  to  our  natural 
equity.    It  is  the  least  that  a  man  can  do  to  wish 
with  all  his  heart  that  he  had  some  valuable  thing,  if 
he  is  to  expect  some  day  to  have  it.    How  simple  a 
condition,  could  man  only  once  resolve  steadily  to 
wish  for  the  possession  of  that  which  he  knows  to  be 
his  chief  good  ;   could  he  but  cast  aside,  once  for 
all,  all  those  vain,  those  fruitless  longings  for  things 
that  are  out  of  his  reach  ;  for  gifts  and  faculties  which 
only  glitter  and  attract  the  eye ;  and  wish  in  the 
sincerity  of  his  heart  for  what  is  really  to  be  had  for 
the  wishing — for  religious  faith  and  temper.  What 
happiness,  what  comfort,  what  serenity  of  spirit,  Avhat 


The  Strength  of  Wishes. 


249 


cheerful  hope  is  in  men's  power,  could  they  but  bring 
themselves  to  wish  heartily  for  that  faith  from  which 
all  these  fruits  spring.  But,  as  Bishop  Wilson  says, 
"they  whose  hearts  desire  nothing,  pray  for  nothing  ;" 
and  not  praying  they  do  not  obtain.  Desire  is  the 
first  condition.  "  We  receive  grace  in  the  same  de- 
gree we  desire  it,"  says  the  same  devout  Bishop  again. 

Dare  then  to  wish  to  be  spiritual,  is  what  we  would 
say  to  any  man  of  the  world,  who,  devoted  to  the 
objects  of  this  world,  absorbed  in  its  exciting  struggles, 
can  not  bring  himself  even  to  form  the  wish  to  be 
another  man  than  he  is ;  nay,  who  even  starts  back 
from  wishing  for  it,  as  if  he  were  wishing  for  his 
death  ;  who,  even  if,  in  a  moment  of  disgust  and  weari- 
ness with  earth  at  some  failure  of  a  hope,  he  does  utter 
the  troubled  wish,  recals  it  immediately,  and  almost  in 
a  desperate  hurry,  for  fear,  by  some  possibility,  God 
may  take  him  at  his  word,  and  give  him  a  new 
spirit  in  spite  of  himself.  To  such  a  one  might  we 
not  say — Dare,  Oh !  weak  and  faltering  soul- — Dare 
at  any  rate  to  wish  to  have  that  which  is  your  chief 
good.  You  imagine  it  now  to  be  a  sort  of  death,  but 
it  is  not  this,  it  is  life  from  the  dead.  You  think  now 
that  to  be  spiritually  minded  is  to  be  emptied  of  all 
that  interests,  all  that  invites  and  wins  desire,  all  that 
attracts  sympathy ;  to  have  the  full  mind,  and  the 
life  which  overflows  with  stimulus,  changed  for  a 
blank  void.  But  it  is  not  so.  The  new  life  will  be 
full  of  interests  ;  full  of  desire.  Dare  then  to  wish  to 
be  changed,  and  do  not  be  terrified  like  a  child  at  the 
mere  notion  of  a  new  state. 


250  The  Strength  of  Wishes. 

And  to  those  who  have  doubts  as  to  the  truth  of 
religion,  may  we  not  also  ask — Do  you  fulfil  the  first 
condition,  of  wishing  it  to  be  true  ?  If  you  do  not,  can 
you  be  sure  that  your  reason  is  in  a  fit  state  to  judge 
of  the  evidence  of  religion  ?  Let  us  take  the  Christian 
doctrine  of  eternal  life.  With  respect  to  this  doctrine, 
so  much  must  at  least  be  said,  that  if  there  is  any 
final  issue  of  the  whole  of  human  existence  which  ap- 
pears to  us  the  best  possible,  viz.,  an  ascent  of 
human  existence  into  a  glorious,  happy,  and  endless 
state,  we  are  at  any  rate  bound  to  msh  it  to  be  true. 
If  we  ask  you  at  once  to  believe  it,  you  say,  I  cannot  ; 
it  is  not  in  my  power  :  but  you  cannot  say  you  cannot 
wish  it  to  be  true  ;  and  if  you  can  wish  it  you  ought. 
You  are  under  the  rational  obligation  of  wishing  that 
to  be  the  true  issue  which  is  really  the  best  and 
highest.  Will  you  say  your  action  comes  under  the 
head  of  duty,  not  your  wishes  ?  You  cannot  say 
this  ;  wishes  are  a  very  real  and  a  very  large  part  of 
duty.  In  such  a  case  as  this, — that  the  mere  concep- 
tion is  ofi'ered  to  the  mind,  constitutes  an  obligation  to 
wish  for  its  truth.  The  simple  opportunity  for  the 
wish  is  a  call  for  it.  If,  in  ordinary  junctures  an 
event  presents  itself  to  us  as  the  best  possible  that 
could  be,  there  is  a  call  uj)on  us  to  wish  for  that 
event. 

Upon  what  ground  then  can  it  be  said  that  the  idea 
of  a  happy  endless  state  does  not  of  itself  create  the 
duty  to  wish  for  the  truth  of  it  ?  There  is  only  one 
reason  that  can  possibly  justify  our  not  wishing  for 
such  an  issue  of  human  existence,  viz.,  that  the  idea, 


The  Strength  of  Wishes.  251 

however  Leautiful  and  splendid,  did  not  hold  together 
when  examined,  bnt  fell  to  pieces  as  an  inconsistency ; 
that  it  was  a  mere  creation  of  fancy,  which,  like  the 
supernatural  world  of  children,  contained  impossi- 
liilities ;  and  that  there  can  he  no  obligation  to  wish 
for  what  is  impossible.  But  what  is  there  contradict- 
ory and  inconsistent  in  the  idea  ?  Where  is  the  im- 
possibility of  a  glorious  and  endless  existence  ?  Is  it 
in  its  endlessness  ?  First  give  a  reason  why  personal 
existence  should  ever  end.  At  each  moment  of  our 
existence  it  is  a  more  natural  idea  to  us  that  we  should 
exist  the  next  moment,  than  that  we  should  not ;  nor 
is  any  length  of  that  existence  a  reason  for  its  end ; 
continuance,  is  at  every  moment  the  unavoidable  ex- 
pectation of  the  mind  ;  therefore  eternal  existence 
cannot  help  being,  however  stupendous,  a  more  natural 
conception  than  a  limited  one.  Does  the  impossibility 
lie  in  the  glory  of  the  life  ?  But  why  should  not  the 
scale  of  existence  rise  ?  Is  there  one  reason  why 
eternal  happiness  should  not  be  a  real  future  ? 

If  there  is  nothing  impossible  then  in  the  wish,  is 
not  a  person  evidently  bound  to  wish  that  this  doctrine 
of  eternal  life  were  true.  But  does  he  wish  it  ?  That 
is  to  say,  has  he  a  real,  hearty,  earnest  wish  about  it  ? 
Or  does  he  cast  it  aside  altogether,  even  as  the  subject 
of  a  wish  ?  If  so,  is  there  not  enough  in  his  own 
want  of  interest  about  a  future  life  to  account  for  his 
want  of  belief  in  it  ?  Is  it  not  the  condition  of  all 
right  exercise  of  the  understanding  that  it  should  be 
accompanied  by  an  interest,  an  affection  of  the  mind  ? 
No  evidence  can  be  seen  in  that  strength  which  really 


252         .      The  Strength  of  Wishes. 

belongs  to  it  if  there  is  an  indifference  to  the  object 
with  respect  to  which  we  inquire.  We  have  no  right, 
indeed,  to  think  a  thing  true  because  we  desire  it. 
But  to  be  without  the  desire,  which  natural  reason 
prompts,  for  a  life  beyond  the  grave,  and  a  happy  im- 
mortahty,  is  to  be  without  that  which  is  necessary  for 
setting  off  the  evidence  itself  for  it  at  its  proper  value. 
It  is  to  labour  under  a  moral  want.  A  moral  want  may 
cut  off  from  the  truth  ;  it  must  diminish  your  chance  of 
finding  it,  where  the  evidence  itself  is  of  a  moral  kind ; 
nay,  where  the  very  desire  itself  in  the  human  heart,  the 
longing,  the  reaching  forward  toward  a  future  exist- 
ence, is  a  very  part  of  the  argument  for  it.  A  future 
state  has  a  supreme  claim  upon  the  heart  of  man  ; 
and  so  should  take  its  place  there  as  an  earnest 
and  habitual  wish.  If  you  have  not  got  this  wish,  if 
you  have  not  the  wish  for  a  future  life,  how  do  you 
deserve  to  believe  it  ?  If  you  are  so  absorbed  in  the 
sense  of  present  life  that  the  future  is  not  even  worth 
a  wish  in  your  eyes  ;  if  you  have  no  desire  for  it ;  how 
can  you  expect  to  see  the  deep  grounds  in  your  own 
being  for  it  ?  They  are  hidden  from  you.  Let  us 
pray  then  that  we  may  have  good  \\dshes ;  that  we  may 
desire  that  which  is  really  the  highest  good, — the  best 
thing  for  us ;  and  that,  in  order  to  obtain  that  good 
promise,  w^e  may  be  made  to  love  that  which  He 
commands. 


THE   UNSPOKEN   JUDGMENT  OF 
MANKIND. 


Psalm  xxxix.  1,  2. 

"  I  said,  I  will  take  heed  to  my  ways,  that  I  offend  not  in  my  tongue  : 
I  will  keep  my  mouth  as  it  were  with  a  bridle,  while  the  ungodly 
is  in  my  sight." 

QCRIPTURE  speaks  in  two  different  ways  about 
^  judging  others.  On  the  one  hand,  it  says, — 
"  Judge  nothing  before  the  time,  till  the  day  of  the 
Lord  come ;"  on  the  other  hand,  it  says,  "  He  that 
is  spiritual  judgeth  all  things;"  and  we  are  told  to 
regard  the  Holy  Spirit,  of  which  we  partake,  as  a 
spirit  of  discernment.  Indeed,  all  the  directions  that 
Scripture  gives  us  about  distinguishing  between  the 
bad  and  good  in  this  world,  with  reference  to  our  own 
choice  of  society,  and  the  duty  of  showing  our  own 
preference  of  the  one  to  the  other,  imj)ly  a  certain 
power  of  judgment  in  us  relating  to  people's  characters. 
Nor,  if  this  discernment  exists  in  Christians,  can  we 
confine  it  to  distinguishing  only  gross  and  flagrant 
sinners  from  well-conducted  men.  No  ;  it  extends 
much  further  than  that ;  it  goes  much  deeper.  Chris- 
tians who  are  endowed  with  the  spirit  of  holiness,  and 
who  have  with  that  gift  the  spirit  also  of  wisdom  and 


2  54      The  Unspoken  Judgment  of  Mankind. 

knowledge,  can  see  where  the  heart  is  right  in  others, 
and  where  it  is  not ;  where  the  aims  are  pure,  and 
where  they  are  corrupted  and  alloyed  ;  where  a  man  is 
a  single-hearted  disciple  of  Christ,  and  where  he  is 
double-minded.  All  this  belongs  to  the  power  which 
"  he  that  is  spiritual"  has,  "who  judgeth  all  things." 
Indeed,  this  is  part  of  that  very  unconscious  power 
which  lies  in  goodness  as  such  ;  for  goodness  finds 
out  o;oodness  in  others.  On  the  other  hand,  in  meetino; 
those  who  have  mean  and  selfish  aims  ;  however  they 
disguise  them,  and  ornament  them,  it  feels  itself 
coming  into  contact  with  something  with  which  it 
cannot  join,  and  which  repels  it.  So  that  goodness,  as 
such,  has  a  wisdom  in  it ;  it  knows  that  which  attracts 
and  draws  it  to  itself,  and  that  which  does  not;  it  knows 
the  character  with  which  it  is  in  sympathy  and 
agreement,  and  that  with  which  it  is  not. 

What  then  is  meant  by  our  being  told  that  we  are  to 
"  judge  nothing  before  the  time,  till  the  day  of  the  Lord 
come;"  by  our  Lord's  saying,  "Judge  not,  that  ye  be 
not  judged ;"  and  by  other  texts,  "  Who  art  thou  that 
judgest  another  "  Let  not  him  that  eateth  judge  him 
that  eateth  not"  ?  ^  They  mean,  in  the  first  place,  that  we 
are  not  to  judge  hastily,  not  to  judge  others  for  small 
and  doubtful  things;  they  unquestionably  limit  and  put 
checks  upon  us  in  judging  others.  There  are  judgments 
upon  others  which  we  cannot  help  forming,  which  are  the 
voice  of  conscience  and  reason  in  us,  which  rise  within 
us  without  our  seeking  them ;  and  there  are  judgments, 
on  the  other  hand,  which  we  provoke  ourselves  to 
form,  and  which  are  arbitrary  and  capricious. 

^  James  iv.  12.  -  Rom.  xiv.  3. 


The  Ufispoken  Jtidgmciit  of  Mankind.  255 

But  perhaps  the  great  law  with  respect  to  judging, 
which  is  laid  doT\Ti  in  these  texts  is,  that  judgment  in 
this  world,  when  it  is  upon  the  critical  point  of  men's 
goodness  or  l)adness,  is  suspended,  with  respect  to 
its  delivery ;  that  it  is  not  allowed  full  expression  and 
manifestation.  We  know  that  t]ie  Judgment  will  be  an 
outspoken  judgment ;  that  it  will  declare  and  manifest 
to  the  whole  world  what  every  one  is.  Its  openness 
and  full  exposure  of  all  evil  is  to  be  its  very  charac- 
teristic. AVe  know  that  there  will  be  no  reserve  shown, 
but  that  every  one's  acts  and  motives  will  be  brought 
to  light.  The  tremendous  disclosures  which  will  be 
made  at  it,  is  indeed  one  of  the  great  terrors  with 
which  it  inspires  us.  People  have  understandings  with 
themselves  here.  They  profess  better  motives  than 
they  really  have  ;  and  they  think  that  all  this  disguise 
does  not  signify  because  it  is  not  seen.  But  Scripture 
holds  before  us  the  terror  of  a  dreadful  exposure,  when 
all  the  secret  terms  on  which  people  ever  lived  with 
themselves  here  will  be  laid  bare,  and  the  whole  interior 
of  man's  heart  be  laid  open, — where  there  "  is  nothing 
secret,  which  shall  not  be  made  manifest ;  neither  any- 
thing hid,  that  shall  not  be  known,"  ^  but  "  whatso- 
ever "  has  been  "  spoken  in  darkness  shall  be  heard  in 
the  light;"  and  whatsoever  has  been  "spoken  in  the 
ear  in  closets  shall  be  proclaimed  upon  the  house-tops," - 
Openness,  then,  is  the  very  characteristic  of  the  Last 
Judgment.  But — and  this  is  the  great  distinction  be- 
tween the  two — the  tongue  of  intermediate  judgment 
is  tied.  There  is  an  embargo  laid  upon  the  delivery 
of  it.    We  are  not  at  liberty  to  say  openly  what  we 

1  Luke  viii.  17.  -  Luke  xii.  .3. 


256      TJic  Unspoken  yudgment  of  Mankind. 


think  about  others,  even  though  it  may  be  true.  This 
woukl  be  to  forestall  the  Q-reat  final  Judo;ment.  We 
have  to  w^ait.  The  Holy  Spirit  may  enable  us  to 
judge,  in  the  sense  of  gaining  discernment  of  others' 
characters ;  but  He  does  not  permit  us  to  promulgate. 
The  manifestation  belongs  to  the  last  day. 

This  is  the  meaning,  then,  of  "  the  bridle,  while  the 
ungodly  is  in  my  sight."  This  language  implies  a 
judgment  of  some  kind,  for  there  must  be  a  judgment 
to  know  the  godly  from  the  ungodly ;  but  it  enjoins  a 
silent,  a  mute  judgment.  The  Psalmist  saw  that,  while 
he  had  a  true  judgment  with  respect  to  numbers  of  men 
whom  he  saw  in  the  world,  it  was  not  fitting  that  he 
should  proclaim  it,  but  that  he  should  keep  it  to  him- 
self; he  had  deep  thoughts  about  the  world,  but  they 
must  not  be  uttered, — "  I  held  my  tongue  and  spake 
nothing;  I  kept  silence,  yea  even  from  good  words;  but 
it  was  pain  and  grief  to  me."  He  repressed  himself, — 
and  all  repression  is  difiicult  and  grievous  when  a  man 
is  full  of  some  truth.  But  he  saw  that  the  condition  of 
thino-s  here  was  such  that  it  would  not  admit  of  the 

O 

unqualified  divulgement  of  such  truth  as  this.  So  he 
refrains ;  he  lays  a  prohibition  on  himself ;  and  in  the 
mean  time  gives  a  vent  to  his  heart,  which  is  hot 
witlnn  him,  in  the  general  thought  of  the  transciency 
and  shortness  of  that  state  of  things  which  lays  this 
burden, — this  pressure  of  a  great  secret  upon  hitn ; 
which  obliges  him  to  see  what  he  cannot  witness  to, 
and  to  know  what  he  cannot  divulge  :  "  Behold  thou 
hast  made  my  days,  as  it  were,  a  span  long,  and  every 
man  li^'ing  is  altogether  vanity." 


The  Unspoken  Judgment  of  Mankind.  257 

In  this  temper  of  the  Psalmist,  then,  we  observe 
first,  a  greater  strength  than  belongs  to  the  other 
temper  of  impetuous  and  premature  expression, — 
strength  not  only  of  self-control,  but  of  actual  feeling 
and  passion.     Such  a  posture  of  mind  requires  for 
sustaining  it  a  stronger  and  more  intense  conviction 
than  the  other  does,  which  breaks  out  into  immediate 
indignation.     For,  is  it  not  weakness,  when  men 
cannot  restrain  and  keep  up  their  own  internal  de- 
cision, without  expressing  it  vehemently,  or  even 
without  expressing  it  at  all  ?    Yet  this  is  often  the 
unconscious  reason  why  men  do  thus  rush  into  imme- 
diate and  impetuous  expression.    They  feel  as  if  they 
could  not  keep  up  their  own  inner  judgment  and  moral 
feeling  without  it ;  they  want  the  help  of  the  outward 
demonstration,  as  a  protection  to  themselves,  other- 
wise they  think  their  own  inward  conviction  might 
give  way.  The  outward  expression  is  indeed  undoubt- 
edly a  great  help  to  us,  and  a  designed  help,  when 
there  are  no  reasons  to  the  contrary,  in  maintaining  an 
inward  judgment.    The  force  of  our  language  reacts 
upon  ourselves ;  it  props  us  up,  and  gives  us  a  kind  of 
support,  when  the  echoes,  as  it  were,  of  our  own  hearts 
come  back  to  us,  and  nature,  if  it  is  not  startled  at  the 
sound  which  itself  hath  made,  is  encouraged  and  invi- 
gorated by  it.    There  are  those  who  make  too  large  a 
use  of  this  means  of  self-support ;  and  yet,  in  itself,  this 
particular  use  of  outward  speech,  as  an  auxiliary  to  our 
own  thoughts  and  our  own  feelings, — ratifying,  and,  as 
it  were,  confirming  them,  fortifying  the  conclusion  of 

our  minds, — is  natural.    And  this,  when  men  break 

s 


258      The  Unspoken  jfudgment  of  ManJcind. 

into  the  open  expression  of  some  judgment  they  have 
formed,  is  often  the  real  reason  why  they  do  so ;  the 
feeling,  viz.,  that  they  want  the  help  of  the  outward 
demonstration  to  sustain  the  verdict  within.  They  use 
strong  language  as  a  protection  against  their  own  weak- 
ness, and  for  fear  the  voice  within  them  should  otherwise 
sink  and  forget  itself, — the  judicial  voice,  which  stands 
up  for  good  against  evil.  It  seems  to  need  being  assured 
and  reinforced  by  its  own  utterances,  and  by  hearing 
itself  speak.  And  this  is  more  especially  the  case  when 
others  talk  or  write  plausibly  and  speciously  on  the  side 
of  evil,  and  make  a  show  in  its  favour-  To  the  weak 
in  faith  it  then  seems  as  if  all  were  lost,  as  if  even 
the  stronghold  of  their  own  hearts  had  capitulated, 
and  even  they  themselves  were  carried  away  by  the 
stream,  unless  they  retort  instantly,  and  are  as  vehe- 
ment in  their  exposure  as  the  others  were  plausible  in 
their  defence  of  evil.  They  then  especially  seem  to 
stand  in  need  of  the  support  of  their  own  indignant 
voices,  in  order  to  preserve  even  their  own  footing, 
and  prevent  themselves  being  carried  away  by  the 
world's  argument ;  to  keep  their  own  judgment  from 
being  overwhelmed  by  this  great  array  and  show  on 
the  opposite  side.  They  feel  in  ten  times  greater 
want,  then,  of  this  auxiliary  to  their  own  convictions. 
But  it  is  evident  that  to  need  this  kind  of  support  is 
part  of  the  weakness  of  nature,  and  not  its  strength. 
It  is  nature  distrusting  the  strength  of  its  own  inward 
feeling,  as  if  it  were  not  enough  for  firmness  and  tena- 
city unless  this  auxiliary  were  present ;  as  if  even  the 
heart  were  feeble  without  the  help  of  speech.  And 


The  Unspoken  Jitdgment  of  Mankind.  259 

therefore  what  was  just  said  is  true,  that  this  mute 
form  of  judgment  requires  greater  intensity  of  feeling, 
as  well  as  greater  self-command,  to  carry  it  on. 

The  circumstances  then  of  the  world  are  such,  that 
this  greater  strength  of  feeling,  this  silent  form  of 
judgment,  is  positively  needed  to  meet  them.  For 
consider  what  the  perpetual  expression  of  judgment, 
what  the  constant  reply  to  the  challenge  of  the  other 
side  would  entail.  This  challenge  is  always  going  on. 
It  is  impossible  to  live  in  the  world  without  constantly 
hearing  admiration  and  praise  lavished  on  that 
which  we  know  in  our  hearts  to  be  hollow  and  in- 
ferior in  character.  The  world  generally  accej^ts 
success  as  a  test ;  indeed  popular  judgment  is  almost 
obliged  to  be  exceedingly  rough ;  it  must  take  men  as 
they  'stand  before  it  at  the  passing  moment,  and  if 
they  stand  well  then  it  welcomes  them  ;  it  cannot  go 
back  and  retrace  steps  and  examine  foundations. 
It  is  in  its  very  nature  a  most  indiscriminating 
judge,  scattering  about  promiscuous  compliments  and 
commendations  according  to  men's  outward  circum- 
stances, and  not  according  to  any  real  criterion.  Can 
we  take  up  a  newspaper  without  remarking  the 
quantity  of  this  inevitable  kind  of  adulation  in  it — 
this  mechanical  praise,  which  flows  from  a  law  of 
public  opinion.  If,  then,  the  good  allow  themselves  to 
be  provoked  and  challenged  by  the  praise  of  evil  which 
goes  on  in  the  world,  and  if  passionate  language  is 
necessary  as  a  support  to  themselves  against  this  over- 
whelming force  and  array,  they  will  find  themselves 
under  a  perpetual  call  to  make  some  indignant  demon- 
stration ;  to  exclaim  or  protest. 


26o      TJie  Unspoke7i  judgment  of  Mankind. 

But  again,  to  attempt  the  exposure  of  tlie  bad  in 
this  world  would  be  to  figlit  with  all  the  conditions  of 
our  state  in  this  world  for  another  reason.  For  im- 
agine the  attempt  made  in  any  one  instance.  We 
know  that  particular  or  definite  crimes  can  be 
brought  home  to  men  by  e%ddence  ;  but  suppose  it  is 
a  character  which  we  have  to  bring  home  to  a  man,  a 
character  which  is  only  the  general  result  of  the  facts 
of  his  life, — though  any  discerning  person  could  gather 
it  from  those  facts  ; — and  how  impossible  it  would  be 
to  bring  it  home  to  him  in  such  a  public  judicial  way  as 
crimes  can  l)e.  He  would  have  explanations  of  this  act 
and  of  that  act — points  of  "^"iew  in  which  to  place  one 
term  of  his  life  and  another.  But  the  rule  by  which 
explanations  are  accepted  in  public  is  difierent  from  that 
of  real  individual  belief ;  if  they  cannot  be  formally 
disproved,  then  they  are  admitted;  the  test  which 
they  have  to  fulfil  is  rather  an  external  and  conven- 
tional one,  than  that  which  satisfies  the  conscience  and 
sense  of  truth  at  the  bottom  of  every  one's  heart ;  it  is 
what  society  as  a  kind  of  abstraction  can  claim;  apart 
from  the  indi\'idual.  It  would  be  found  then  that  the 
charge  could  not  keep  pace  with  the  explanation ;  but 
that  the  explanation  would,  by  the  laws  of  society, 
overcome  it,  because  by  these  very  laws,  what  society 
as  such  requires  and  is  contented  with,  is  different 
from  that  which  satisfies  the  indi^ddual.  Society,  or 
the  present  system  of  things,  requires  the  ser^^ces  of 
these  men,  and  must  accept  them  upon  their  own 
terms,  which  of  course  are  that  they  must  be  re- 
garded as  men  of  ^drtue  and  probity,  and  fulfilling 


The  Unspoken  Judgment  of  Mankind.  261 

the  moral  test.  Manifestation  of  judgment — exposure 
— is  against  the  law  then  of  such  a  system.  A  thing  is 
true — most  true  until  you  say  it.  But  if  you  say 
it,  if  it  goes  out  your  lips,  if  it  is  once  spoken — oh ! 
how  false  it  becomes.  The  floodgates  of  explanation 
open.  It  is  crushed,  and  cannot  stand  a  moment 
against  the  full  resources  of  a  conventional  defence. 

But  if  no  judgment,  however  true  in  the  sanctuary 
of  the  heart,  can  declare  itself,  by  the  very  conditions 
of  society,  this  is  a  clear  revelation  of  the  will  of  God 
that  such  a  manifestation  must  not  be  attempted,  and 
that  to  attempt  it  would  l)c  to  forestall  His  divine 
purpose.  And  then  we  have  nothing  to  fall  back  upon 
but  the  rule  of  the  Psalmist — the  rule  of  a  mute  and 
silent  judgment.  I  will  keep  my  mouth  as  it  were 
with  a  bridle,  while  the  ungodly  is  in  my  sight.  The 
ungodly  are  not  even  now,  in  this  world,  wholly  with- 
out a  judge  sitting  in  the  heart  of  the  righteous  and  of 
the  spiritual  man,  to  whom  the  Holy  Spirit  has  given 
discernment.  There  is  a  judgment  going  on  even  now, 
in  the  depths  of  men's  minds,  in  their  inward  thoughts, 
which  to  themselves  are  most  familiar,  and  which  are 
the  home  in  which  they  live.  But  woe  to  them  who 
would  draw  this  judgment  out  of  its  hiding-place,  who 
would  extricate  it  from  these  solemn  fetters,  and  from 
this  sacred  prison  in  which  it  has  been  lodged  by  God's 
ordinance,  to  remain  there  till  it  will  emerge  to  light 
in  another  world,  "  Know  ye  not,"  says  the  Apostle, 
"that  the  saints  shall  judge  the  world."  We  shall, 
doubtless,  one  day  know  the  meaning  of  these  words 
much  better  than  we  do  now  ;  when  God,  who  acts  by 


262      The  Unspoken  Judgment  of  Mankind. 

human  means  and  by  the  agency  of  those  hearts  and 
wills  which  He  has  moulded  into  harmony  with  His 
own,  will  Lriug  about  the  great  final  division  of 
mankind  by  means,  in  part,  of  that  judgment  in 
men's  hearts  which  He  Himself  has  formed,  and 
which  will  at  the  proper  time  attain  a  full  disclosure 
and  manifestation.  But  now  we  are  under  the  Psalm- 
ist's rule — the  rule  of  a  strong  yet  silent  judgment ; 
which  indeed  is  able  to  keep  silence,  to  refrain 
from  expression,  and  to  discard  its  aid  or  reinforce- 
ment, because  it  is  strong,  because  the  feeling  which 
is  at  the  bottom  of  it  is  deeper. 

In  the  meantime  men  of  the  world  are  satisfied  if 
they  can  meet  what  is  called  the  judgment  of  society, 
that  is  to  say,  that  judgment  which  is  conventional, 
and  which  goes  upon  another  principle  and  other  tests 
than  those  in  the  heart  and  conscience  of  the  indivi- 
dual. They  are  satisfied,  they  congratulate  them- 
selves, if  they  can  put  matters  into  proper  shape  for 
this  tribunal ;  if  they  can  please  this  external  judge, 
who  stands,  by  his  very  office,  outside  the  human  heart, 
and  never  enters  in  to  scrutinise  one  spring  of  action 
or  probe  one  motive.  This  great  husk  of  a  judgment, 
which  avoids  touching  one  single  responsibility  of  the 
soul,  and  applies  only  tests  of  public  convenience  and 
arbitrary  morality,  is  the  judgment  with  which  the  man 
of  the  world  is  concerned.  Can  he  meet  a  charge  with 
a  proper  supj)ly  of  such  defences  as  are  accejDted  and 
have  a  received  forensic  value  in  this  court  ?  Can  he 
furnish  such  an  interj^retation  of  his  life  and  conduct 
as  this  court  of  the  world,  upon  its  own  principles,  is 


The  Unspoken  Judginent  of  Mankind.  263 

obliged  to  receive  ?  This  is  the  judgment,  and  this 
is  the  acquittal  which  he  cares  about.  His  standard 
is — a  successful  explanation;  an  explanation  that,  by  the 
rules  of  outward  society,  must  be  admitted;  an  explana- 
tion about  which  men  of  the  world,  like  himself,  pro- 
nounce themselves  to  be  quite  satisfied,  saying  that 
they  have  no  desire  to  go  further;  that  that  is  all  that 
the  community  can  want ;  that  they  do  not  for  their 
own  part  wish  to  tresj^ass  upon  forbidden  ground,  and 
to  invade  the  sanctuary  of  the  human  heart ;  they 
leave  that  to  a  higher  tribunal.  This  judgment  then 
is  all  important  to  him;  he  dreads  with  a  real  terror 
this  judgment  being  against  him  ;  he  hangs  upon  the 
breath  of  an  outward  superficial  interpretation  of  him- 
self; and,  if  this  is  favourable,  he  has  got  all  he  wants  ; 
he  has  passed  the  ordeal,  and  he  is  satisfied.  But  is 
there  not  all  this  time  a  judgment  buried  in  the  depths 
of  human  hearts,  which  he  does  not  meet  and  which 
does  not  clear  him  ?  Is  there  not  an  unspoken  sen- 
tence upon  him,  a  silent  verdict  in  the  consciences  of 
the  righteous  and  holy  which  goes  deeper  than  "  ex- 
planations" ?  And  is  not  this  mute  verdict  an  antici- 
pation of  that  judgment  which  will  not  be  silent  but 
outspoken — the  disclosure  and  manifestation  of  the 
human  heart  which  will  take  place  at  the  last  day  ? 
Nay,  and  is  there  not  even  a  judgment  in  his  own 
heart  which  he  does  not  pass  altogether  comfortably  ? 
Is  there  not  a  voice  within  him  which  would  speak  if 
he  would  let  it,  and  did  not  suppress  it ;  and  which,  if 
it  did  speak,  would  scatter  to  the  winds  the  superficial 
and  conventional  acquittal  of  men,  and  overthrow  in  a 


264      The  Unspoken  Judgment  of  Mankind. 

moment  his  technical  defence  ?  This  judgment,  which 
is  hidden  at  the  bottom  of  human  hearts;  which  the 
righteous  who  welcome  it,  and  even  the  wicked  who 
suppress  it,  alike  conceal,  this  is  the  real  judgment ; 
real,  though  at  present  only  mute  and  expectant. 
Fear  this  judgment — for  if  it  is  against  you,  you  are 
indeed  in  sad  case.  This  mute  judgment  is  on  all 
sides  of  you,  it  surrounds  you;  you  do  not  hear  it  or 
see  it,  but  there  it  is.  Within  the  consciences  of  men 
is  the  tribunal  which  condemns  you.  You  may  be 
carried  aloft  on  the  conventional  judgment  of  the 
world,  absolving  you  upon  its  own  rules  ;  your  explana- 
tions may  have  done  everything,  and  been  omnipo- 
tent ;  you  may  stand  well  and  without  a  blot,  and  have 
an  external  verdict  supporting  you  everywhere,  but 
in  the  inner  heart  of  man  there  still  sits  the  mute  judge 
who  discerns  and  speaks  not.  In  a  thousand  breasts, 
into  which  thou  canst  not  penetrate,  but  which  are  all 
around  thee,  this  judge  sits;  he  sees  what  thou  wouldst 
fain  hide,  and  interprets  what  thou  wouldst  fain 
obscure  ;  he  understands,  he  knows  thee,  he  sees  thee ; 
even  if  thine  hypocrisy  hides  thee  from  thyself,  thou 
art  naked  in  his  sight.  Depend  not  on  technical  ac- 
quittals then ;  though  thou  art  ever  so  safe  in  the 
world's  judgment,  thou  hast  a  judge  who  is  still  for- 
midable,— formidable  as  a  prophet,  though  he  holds  no 
court  as  yet  upon  earth.  Fear  this  hidden  adversary; 
and,  if  it  be  not  too  late,  deal  with  him  quickly  whiles 
thou  art  in  the  way  with  him. 


THE  TRUE  TEST  OF  SPIRITUAL 
BIRTH. 


John  m.  7,  8. 

"  Marvel  not  that  I  said  unto  the6,  Ye  must  be  boi'n  again.    The  wind 

bloweth  where  it  listeth,  and  thou  hearest  the  sound  thereof,  but 
canst  not  tell  whence  it  cometh,  and  ivhither  it  goeth :  so  is  every 
one  that  is  born  of  the  Spirit." 

fymS  text  conveys  the  idea  that  spiritual  characters 
spring  up  in  an  unknown  way,  and  that  we  can- 
not account  for  them,  or  give  an  explanation  of  them, 
as  we  can  of  other  and  ordinary  characters.  Thou 
canst  not  tell  whence  it  cometh  or  whither  it  goeth 
- — this  spiritual  temper  and  disposition.  It  cannot  be 
said,  with  any  truth,  of  ordinary  characters,  that  there 
is  any  mystery  about  them,  or  that  they  have  an  un- 
seen origin ;  on  the  contrary,  we  know  everything 
about  them,  and  can  explain  them  without  difficulty. 
Take  an  ordinary  man  of  the  world — what  he  thinks 
and  what  he  does,  his  whole  standard  of  duty  is  taken 
from  the  society  in  which  he  lives.  It  is  a  borrowed 
standard :  he  is  as  good  as  other  people  are ;  he  does, 
in  the  way  of  duty,  what  is  generally  considered  pro- 
per and  becoming  among  those  with  whom  his  lot  is 
thrown.  He  reflects  established  opinion  on  such  points. 
He  follows  its  lead.    His  aims  and  objects  in  life  again 


266         The  True  Test  of  Spiritual  Birth. 

are  taken  from  the  world  around  him,  and  from  its  dicta- 
tion. What  it  considers  honourable,  worth  having,  ad- 
vantageous and  good,  he  thinks  so  too  and  pursues  it. 
His  motives  all  come  from  a  visible  quarter.  It  would 
be  absurd  to  say  that  there  is  any  mystery  in  such  a 
character  as  this;  because  it  is  formed  from  a  known  ex- 
ternal influence — the  influence  of  social  opinion  and  the 
voice  of  theworld.  "  Whence"such  a  character  "cometh" 
we  see ;  we  venture  to  say  that  the  source  and  origin  of 
it  is  open  and  palpable,  and  we  know  it  just  as  we  know 
the  physical  causes  of  many  common  facts.  We  may 
say  of  such  a  person,  as  we  do  of  some  well-investigated 
natural  phenomenon,  that  everything  is  ascertained 
about  him,  and  that  he  is  fully  described;  as  we  say  of 
some  region  of  which  we  have  a  good  and  correct  map. 

Of  many  persons  then,  who  rise  to  respectable 
positions  in  the  world,  and  who  fulfil  their  public 
duties,  and  their  duties  to  their  neighbours,  in  a  way 
which  satisfies  general  opinion,  it  must  be  said  that 
there  is  nothing  about  their  character  to  which  the 
text's  description — that  thou  canst  not  tell  whence  it 
Cometh — at  all  applies.  Whence  it  cometh  we  know 
perfectly  well ;  all  is  quite  plain.  And  this  world,  as 
it  is  the  source  whence  such  a  character  cometh,  so  it 
supplies  the  object  or  goal  to  which  it  goeth ;  it  is  the 
sphere  of  exercise  for  such  a  character,  that  field  which 
it  is  adapted  to  occupy,  and  in  which  it  is  qualified  to 
shine.  Present  life  and  society  is  the  sphere  for  which 
such  a  character,  as  it  were,  givesitself  out  as  meant  and 
intended  ;  this  explains  its  use ;  this  furnishes  its  end  ; 
it  gives  no  hint  of  a  destination  above  the  objects,  the 


The  True  Test  of  Spiritual  Birth.  ib'j 

employments,  and  the  abilities  of  this  world.  Whither 
it  goeth  is  thus  as  much  known  as  whence  it  cometh  ; 
there  is  nothing  mysterious  in  the  end  or  scope  of  such 
a  character,  any  more  than  there  is  about  its  origin ; 
both  are  obvious  and  palpable,  and  contained  in  this 
world  which  we  know,  and  which  is  before  our  eyes. 

There  is  another  character  very  different  from  that 
of  a  worldly  man,  of  w^hich  we  may  yet  say  that  it  does 
not  respond  to  the  description  in  the  text — Thou  canst 
not  tell  whence  it  cometh  ;  and  that  is  the  character 
of  mere  religious  zeal.  If  we  take  religious  zeal  by 
itself  simply,  and  apart  from  that  Christian  love  which 
is  the  refinement,  the  purification,  and  the  consum- 
mation of  it,  it  is  by  no  means  a  disposition  with  a 
mysterious  origin,  it  has  none  of  that  peculiar  tone  and 
type  about  it  which  induces  one  to  say — Where  did 
such  a  character  come  from  ?  What  unknown  inspi- 
ration communicated  it  ?  On  the  contrary,  the  origin 
of  unpurified  religious  zeal  is  very  patent  and  obvious. 
We  know  all  about  it,  and  there  is  no  mystery  in  it. 
It  springs  up  in  crowds,  in  masses,  by  a  kind  of  inocu- 
lation, and  concurrence  and  contact  of  men  with  each 
other;  people  catching  it  from  the  motion  and  stir 
around  them,  in  a  way  analogous  to  that  in  which 
physical  affections  are  sometimes  made  to  spread. 
There  is  infection  in  mental  conditions  as  well  as  bodily ; 
and  excitement — even  religious  excitement — rapidly 
spreads  from  the  impression  of  numbers,  from  the  influ- 
ence of  great  spectacles,  from  outward  exhibition  and 
displays.  Mere  religious  zeal  is  a  gregarious  thing, 
and  like  other  gregarious  affections  which  are  ctiught 


268         Tfie  True  Test  of  Spiritttal  Birth. 

by  men  in  company  and  simultaneously,  we  know 
how  they  arise,  and  there  is  no  hidden  source. 

We  thus  observe  that  in  the  New  Testament  reli- 
gious zeal  never  of  itself  figures  as  a  spiritual  creation,  as 
belonging  to  that  spiritually  born  temper  of  which  the 
text  says,  "  "We  know  not  whence  it  cometh."  Mere 
zeal  is  always  represented  in  the  New  Testament  as  a 
mere  growth  of  human  nature  ;  a  natural  production  of 
the  human  heart;  not  the  gift  of  grace.  Thus,  through- 
out the  Gospels,  we  meet  with  one  constantly  recurring 
instance  of  religious  zeal ;  which,  however,  so  far  from 
receiving  countenance  or  praise  from  our  Lord,  draws 
down  upon  itseK  His  strongest  rebukes, — the  zeal  of 
the  Pharisees.  There  was  great  zeal  and  activity  of 
mind  in  the  Pharisees ;  they  compassed  heaven  and 
earth  to  extend  their  own  school ;  they  were  scrupu- 
lous, exact,  vehement,  and  eager,  about  everything  con- 
nected with  religion.  But  our  Lord  never  allowed 
men  to  suppose  that  strong  views  and  impressions,  and 
activity  in  circulating  them,  that  eagerness  of  mind  and 
will, — because  it  takes  religious  material  as  its  subject, 
■ — are  therefore  true  religion.  If  there  is  any  one  lesson 
that  the  Bible  teaches,  it  is  that  people  may  show  a 
want  of  religion  in  their  treatment  of  sacred  things, 
and  in  the  kind  of  worship  which  they  set  up.  The 
Pharisees  are  instances  of  what  unregenerate  human 
nature  can  attain  to  in  religious  character ;  and  they  are 
held  up  before  us  to  show^  that  mere  religious  zeal  is 
not  a  spiritual  creation,  but  that  it  is  a  part  of  human 
nature,  which  comes  out,  like  other  passions  and  aflfec- 
tions  of  the  natural  man,  when  there  are  circumstances 


/ 

The  True  Test  of  Spiritual  Birth.  269 

to  elicit  it.  Thus,  St.  Paul  says,  "  Though  I  have  faith 
so  that  I  could  remove  mountains,  and  have  not 
charity,  I  am  nothing."  That  is  to  say,  mere  faith, 
apart  from  a  higher  principle,  mere  strong  impression, 
assurance,  keen  and  vehement  interest,  absorption  of 
the  mind,  is  not  a  spiritual  gift,  it  is  simply  a  develop- 
ment of  the  natural  man.  It  belongs  to  human  nature, 
without  any  Divine  influence  being  exerted  upon  it, 
to  have  these  states  and  conditions  of  mind ;  and  they 
are  no  more  part  of  a  spiritual  birth  than  conditions 
of  our  senses  or  bodily  temperament.  The  mind  in 
these  states  may  take  supernatural  material  for  its  sub- 
ject, because  we  are  impressed  by  nature  with  the 
sense  of  something  supernatural ;  but  it  is  not  itself 
in  a  spiritual  state  in  consequence.  The  Ephesian 
crowd  that  shouted,  "  Great  is  Diana  of  the  Ephesians," 
was  under  the  influence  of  a  religious  zeal. 

Is  not  the  whole  Jewish  character,  as  brought  be- 
fore us  in  the  Gospels  and  Acts  of  the  Apostles  an 
example  of  this  religious  zeal,  which  is  a  mere  fruit  of 
nature,  and  is  caught  in  crowds.  What  obstinate  as- 
surance, what  devotion  to  their  law,  what  fierceness 
against  any  who  are  suspected  of  want  of  allegiance  to 
it,  do  we  see  in  them  !  And  at  the  same  time  how 
gregarious  is  their  spirit ;  how  it  acts  by  means  of 
numbers.  "The  multitude  of  the  people  followed 
Paul,  crying,  Away  with  him  and  again,  when  St. 
Paul  mentioned  the  Gentiles,  they  gave  him  audience  up 
to  this  word,^  and  then  the  whole  crowd  "  lifted  up  their 
voices."  Nor  can  we  avoid  seeing  that  there  is  a  good 
deal  of  Jewish  spirit  in  the  religious  zeal  of  all  ages. 

1  Acts  xxi.  36.  Acts  xxii.  22. 


270         The  True  Test  of  Spiritual  Birth. 

This  kind  of  religious  entlmsiasm  then,  which  is 
born  of  multitudes,  and  springs  up  out  of  commotion 
and  contact,  no  more  responds,  than  the  character  of 
the  man  of  the  world,  to  the  text's  description — thou 
canst  not  tell  whence  it  cometh  ?  We  know  whence 
it  cometh ;  it  has  not  a  mysterious  origin ;  its  source 
is  not  veiled ;  we  see  it  plainly  ;  it  lies  exposed  before 
our  eyes.  It  is  a  part  of  human  nature ;  that  human 
nature  which  is  ascertained  and  kno^vn ;  and  the  pro- 
cess by  which  it  is  engendered  is  a  visible  process. 
It  does  not  fulfil  then  the  text's  test  of  spirituality. 
We  cannot  but  be  struck  often  with  the  way  in  which 
men  of  this  kind  of  zeal  betray  the  want  of  depth  and 
substance  in  their  character,  and  expose  the  super- 
ficiality of  their  enthusiasm.  There  is  a  barrenness  in 
their  minds  which  stunts  all  the  truths  which  they 
take  up  with  so  much  outward  ardour ;  or,  if  the 
truths  spring  up  in  seeming  luxuriance,  it  is  not  a  rich 
growth ;  they  run  up  to  stalk,  as  the  husbandman's 
phrase  is,  and  their  height  does  not  show  the  richness, 
but  the  leanness  and  shallowness  of  the  soil  which 
grows  them.  At  first  we  imagine  that  enthusiasm 
must  of  its  own  nature  always  be  a  fertile  and  fruitful 
quality  of  mind  ;  that  abundance  will  be  one  of  its  uni- 
form signs ;  and  that  it  will  invariably  show  afiinity 
with  the  divine  gifts  of  imagination  or  poetry.  How  is 
it  that,  when  we  come  to  experience,  there  is  often 
such  extraordinay  dullness  in  enthusiasm  ?  that  instead 
of  renovating,  it  seems  to  dry  up  the  spirit ;  to  drain  it 
of  all  its  natural  gifts,  instead  of  adding  life  and  mean- 
ing to  them  ;  and  to  produce  an  aridity  of  mind  which 


The  True  Test  of  Spiritual  Birth.        2  7 1 

shows  itself  by  the  confinement  of  the  man's  ideas, 
issuing  in  the  impoverishment  even  of  the  very  truths 
to  which  he  devotes  himself?  It  is  that  in  such  cases 
enthusiasm  does  not  spring  from  that  unknown  source 
to  which  the  text  refers,  but  from  one  which  is  only 
too  well  known ;  the  common  kind  of  contact  and 
inoculation.  Hence  the  individual,  not  having  any 
fountain  of  truth  ^vithin  himself,  is  simply  acted  upon 
from  without ;  he  repeats  some  favourite  watchword ; 
he  reflects  the  opinion  which  prevails  around  him,  or 
in  his  own  section ;  he  has  no  large  interests  in  truth ; 
he  never  goes  out  of  a  small  circle  of  ideas  in  which  he 
lives,  to  come  into  contact  with  other  thought,  and  to 
lay  hold  upon  what  would  really  enrich  him.  The 
character  of  his  mind  thus  becomes  with  all  its  zeal, 
dull  and  insipid,  because  his  zeal  is  of  that  sort  of 
which  we  can  tell  "whence  it  cometh,"  not  of  that 
sort  of  which  "  whence  it  cometh  "  we  cannot  tell.  It 
cometh  from  the  palpable  contact  with  crowds  and 
masses ;  its  source  is  not  hidden,  but  known. 

But  now,  let  us  turn  to  the  other  side  of  the  de- 
scription. The  text  tells  us  that  there  is  a  certain 
character  and  disposition  of  mind  of  which  it  is  true 
to  say,  that  "  thou  canst  not  tell  whence  it  cometh,  or 
whither  it  goeth."  As  the  wind,  which  rises  we  know 
not  whence,  and  goes  we  know  not  whither,  so  is  every 
one  that  is  of  this  Spirit.  The  New  Testament  describes, 
in  various  parts,  what  this  spiritual  character  is,  its 
expressions  and  manifestations ;  but  there  is  one  gift 
which  sums  up  all  the  features  of  it, — the  gift  of  love 
or  charity.    This  is  a  great  comprehensive  term  in 


272         The  True  Test  of  Spiritual  Birth. 

Scripture,  to  denote  a  certain  combination  of  qualities 
of  mind,  and  there  is  a  description  of  sucli  a  person 
given  by  St.  Paul  in  the  First  Epistle  to  the  Corin- 
thians, which  has  stood  as  the  great  Christian  portrait 
in  all  ages.  No  words,  however,  not  even  those  of 
Scripture,  can  avail  us,  or  make  us  understand  this 
character,  unless  we  have  that  within  us  which  leads 
us  to  discern  it  when  we  see  it,  unless  our  own  percep- 
tions are  arrested  by  some  peculiar  forms  and  manifes- 
tations which  naturally  impress  us  as  spiritual.  With- 
out being  able  to  express  accurately  all  we  mean  by 
love,  we  recognise  it  when  we  meet  it.  There  are 
those  who  stand  out  from  among  the  crowd,  which 
reflects  merely  the  atmosphere  of  feeling  and  standard 
of  society  around  it,  with  an  impress  upon  them 
which  bespeaks  a  heavenly  birth.  Their  criterion  of 
what  is  valuable,  and  to  be  sought  after,  is  different 
from  that  of  others.  They  do  not  press  forward  for 
the  prizes  of  this  world ;  they  stand  apart  from  the 
struggle  in  which  common  minds  are  absorbed.  But 
they  do  this  without  spiritual  pride,  they  think  little 
of  themselves  and  much  of  others,  and  they  have  a  love 
of  their  brethren,  and  of  all  whom  God  has  made  after 
His  own  image.  They  have  these  and  other  great  com- 
mon characteristics,  though  they  have  differences  of 
natural  disposition ;  and  exhibit  the  action  of  divine 
grace,  each  in  the  form  in  which  his  natural  character 
is  adapted  to  show  it. 

Now,  when  we  see  one  of  these  characters,  it  is  a 
question  which  we  ask  ourselves,  How  has  the  person 
become  possessed  of  it  ?  Has  he  caught  it  from  society 


The  True  Test  of  Spiritual  Birth.  273 

around  him  ?  That  cannot  be,  because  it  is  wholly 
different  from  that  of  the  world  around  him.  Has  he 
caught  it  from  the  inoculation  of  crowds  and  masses, 
as  the  mere  religious  zealot  catches  his  character  ? 
That  cannot  be  either,  for  the  type  is  altogether  differ- 
ent from  that  wliich  masses  of  men,  under  enthusiastic 
impulses,  exhibit.  There  is  nothing  gregarious  in  this 
character ;  it  is  the  individual's  own ;  it  is  not  bor- 
rowed, it  is  not  a  reflection  of  any  fashion  or  tone  of 
the  world  outside  ;  it  rises  up  from  some  fount  within, 
and  it  is  a  creation  of  which  the  text  says.  We  know 
not  whence  it  cometh.  We  know  indeed  that,  from 
whatever  source  it  springs,  it  arises  in  conformity 
with  all  those  truths  connected  with  what  we  call  free- 
will. But  Scripture  still  proclaims  the  som"ce  of  it  to 
be  mysterious,  and,  if  we  ask  about  it,  it  tells  us, — 
"  The  wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth."  It  rises  up  in 
one  person  and  another  person,  here  and  there ;  but 
wherever  it  arises  it  reveals  itself  as  an  individual 
phenornenon,  not  belonging  to  a  class,  or  made  by  an 
education.  We  know  the  history  of  the  worldly 
character,  we  know  the  history  of  mere  religious  zeal ; 
both  of  these  arc  borrowed  respectively  from  society 
and  from  crowds  ;  they  are  fully  discovered  and 
mapped  out  ;  ljut  we  do  not  know  the  history  of 
that  character  which  is  a  birth  of  the  divine  Spirit. 
That  is  the  manifestation  of  which  "  thou  canst  not 
tell  whence  it  cometh."  It  is  indeed  on  account  of 
this,  and  because  its  origin  is  lost  in  the  mystery  of 
God's  spiritual  creation,  that  the  contemplation  of  it 
excites  at  once  our  awe  and  love.    We  see  that  the 

T 


2  74         TJie  True  Test  of  Spiritual  Birth. 

character  is  intrinsically  of  such  a  nature  that  it  could 
not  possibly  be  engendered  from  the  impress  of 
society,  or  the  infection  of  a  multitude ;  that  it  is  no 
earthly  manufacture,  and  no  copy  or  reflection  of  an 
outside  pattern,  but  that  it  is  an  inspiration  from  the 
fountainhead  of  all  life  and  goodness.  And  it  is  because 
we  see  this  that  we  know  it  to  be  spiritual. 

And  as  thou  canst  not  tell  whence  such  a  character 
Cometh,  so  neither  canst  thou  tell  whither  it  goeth.  Its 
destination  is  beyond  our  sight.  The  destination  of 
the  character  of  the  man  of  the  world,  even  if  he  is 
respectable,  and  in  his  own  way  useful,  is  not  specially, 
as  I  have  said,  an  invisible  one ;  all  his  qualities  are 
obviously  made  for  this  world  as  their  field  of  exercise  ; 
they  do  not  point  to,  or  give  any  token  or  forecast  of 
another.  But  the  character  which  has  the  unknown 
origin  is  itself  a  prophecy  and  presage  of  another 
world,  because  it  seems  made  for  it.  Its  source  and  its 
destination  then  are  alike  beyond  our  sight.  We  do 
not  see  that  Great  Spirit  from  which  the  Sons  of  God 
derive  their  bu^th  ;  we  do  not  see  that  heavenly  society 
of  the  spirits  of  just  men  made  perfect  toward  which 
they  are  journeying.  Whence  they  come,  and  whither 
they  go,  we  see  not ;  and  that  because  they  are  born 
of  the  Spirit. 

It  is  thus  that  what  is  truly  spiritual  in  man  is 
also  represented  in  Scripture  as  that  which  is  most  in- 
ward, most  original,  and  also,  in  a  certain  true  sense, 
most  natm*al ;  that  which  is  most  his  own,  in  distinc- 
tion from  being  a  mould  given  to  him  by  others — by 
fashion,  by  the  outward  standard  of  society,  by  the 


The  True  Test  of  Spiritual  Birth.  275 

dictation  of  crowds,  by  current  views,  modes  of  speecli, 
and  dominant  phrases.  We  see  the  influences  by 
which  the  man  is  in  vast  numbers  of  cases  made ;  that 
the  process  of  his  formation  is  as  visible  a  one  as  that 
of  a  piece  of  manufacture — that  he  comes  shaped  out 
of  the  hands  of  some  great  outward  public  machinery, 
power,  and  influence.  But  for  this  very  reason  that 
we  see  whence  he  cometh,  the  character  does  not 
answer  to  the  test  of  what  is  truly  spiritual  in  Scrip- 
ture. The  special  criterion  of  Scripture  is,  that  we  do 
not  see  whence  it  cometh ;  that  it  springs  up  from  a 
fountain  of  its  own,  that  it  is  owing  to  a  power  which 
we  cannot  trace,  which  is  visible  only  in  its  effect,  like 
the  wind,  of  which  we  hear  the  sound  but  know  not 
where  it  comes  from.  Undoubtedly  no  Christian  stands 
by  himself  without  the  aid  of  others  ;  religion  is  social, 
and  among  the  means  which  Christianity  employs  for 
the  conversion  of  the  human  heart  and  the  education 
of  mankind,  there  must  be  the  influence  of  masses 
and  of  numbers.  But  still,  with  all  this,  there  is 
no  mistaking  the  test  by  which  the  Gospel  has  dis- 
criminated what  is  spmtual  from  what  is  earthly  in 
the  formation  of  character ;  that  it  takes  us  away  from 
a  palpable  and  visible  sphere  of  production  to  a  mys- 
terious one,  and  from  an  external  source  to  an  inward 
one. 

Let  us  then,  on  this  great  day,^  adore  the  Holy  Ghost, 
the  Lord  and  Giver  of  life;  let  us  specially  commemorate 
at  this  time  His  Greatness  and  Majesty,  His  power  over 
human  hearts.  His  work  of  spiritually  creating  and  in- 

'  Preached  on  Whitsunday. 


276         TJu  Trtie  Test  of  Spiritual  Birth. 

spiring  human  souls  ;  and  let  us  commemorate  the 
fruits  of  His  inspiration,  the  characters  of  the  just,  the 
pure,  the  unworldly,  the  disinterested,  the  simple- 
minded, — those  who  have  been  the  salt  of  the  earth,  and 
the  mementos  of  heaven,  who  have  been  born  of  Him. 
Let  us  thank  God  for  those  who  have  witnessed  by 
their  lives  to  the  truth  of  Christianity,  and  proved  theii' 
own  faith  in  another  world  by  not  thinking  much  of 
this.  And  "  seeing  we  are  compassed  about  with  such 
a  cloud  of  witnesses,  let  us  lay  aside  every  weight,  and 
the  sin  which  doth  so  easily  beset  us,  and  let  us  run 
with  patience  the  race  that  is  set  before  us." 


THE  ASCENSION. 


Hebrews  ix.  24. 

"  Christ  is  not  entered  into  the  holy  places  made  with  hands,  vMch 
are  the  figures  of  the  true  ;  hut  into  heaven  itself,  noiv  to  appear 
in  tlie  presence  of  God  for  us." 

"  OD  hath  in  these  last  days  spoken  unto  us  by 
^  His  Son,  whom  He  hath  appointed  heir  of  all 
things,  by  whom  also  He  made  the  worlds  ;  Who  being 
the  brightness  of  the  Father's  glory,  and  the  express 
image  of  His  person,  and  upholding  all  things  by  the 
word  of  His  power,  when  He  had  by  himself  j)urged 
our  sins,  sat  down  on  the  right  hand  of  the  Majesty  on 
High  ;  being  made  so  much  Ijetter  than  the  angels,  as 
he  hath  by  inheritance  obtained  a  more  excellent  name 
than  they."  ^  This  exaltation  of  Christ  to  a  throne  in 
heaven  is  the  event  which  we  celebrate  this  day,-  He 
led  out  His  disciples  as  far  as  Bethany,  and  said  unto 
them,  "  All  power  is  given  unto  me  in  heaven  and  in 
earth.  "  Go  ye  into  all  the  world,  and  preach  the 
Gospel  to  every  creature."  "  And  it  came  to  pass, 
while  He  blessed  them,  he  was  parted  from  them,  and 
carried  up  into  heaven.    And  they  worshipped  Him, 

'  Heb.  i.  2-4.       ^  Preached  on  Ascension  Day.       "  Matt,  xxviii.  18. 
^  Mark  xvi.  15. 


278 


The  Ascension. 


and  returned  to  Jerusalem  with  great  joy."^  We 
celebrate  therefore  on  this  day  the  foundation,  or 
rather  the  first  manifestation  to  the  world  of  a  great 
Kingdom,  of  which  our  Lord  is  the  Supreme  Head. 
We  know  that  He,  who  in  the  days  of  His  flesh  showed 
such  love  for  man,  instructing  him,  healing  him  in 
body  and  mind,  and  lastly  sufiering  for  him  upon  the 
Cross, — that  He  who  founded  the  Kingdom  of  the 
Gospel  upon  earth,  who  was  perfect  man,  the  Exem- 
plar of  all  goodness ; — that  He  at  his  departure  was 
only  removed  from  us  in  respect  of  sensible  pre- 
sence, and  did  not  cease  to  be  connected  with  us ; 
that  He  was  transplanted  to  an  invisible  throne  in 
heaven,  where  He  reigns  over  us  now,  the  King  both 
of  the  living  and  the  dead.  Upon  this  throne  He  has 
two  worlds  under  His  rule  ;  He  has  all  those  who  have 
departed  this  life  in  His  faith  and  fear — "  the  general 
assembly  and  Church  of  the  first-born  who  are  written 
in  heaven,  and  the  spirits  of  just  men  made  perfect ; " 
He  has  an  innumerable  company  of  angels.  He  has  the 
city  of  the  living  God,  the  heavenly  Jerusalem.  He 
reigns  over  the  Church  triumphant.  This  is  one  of 
the  worlds,  and  the  fullest  and  the  most  glorious, 
over  which  He  holds  His  sceptre.  Upon  the  same 
throne  in  heaven,  He  reigns  over  this  world  below,  in 
which  man  still  struggles  with  temptation  and  sin. 
The  world  of  immortal  life  and  happiness  is  His  : 
again,  this  "  creation  which  groaneth  and  travaileth 
in  pain  together  until  now,"  and  in  which  those  even 
who  have  the  first  fruits  of  the  Spirit,  "  gi'oan  within 

1  Liike  xxiv.  51. 


The  Ascension. 


279 


themselves,  waiting  for  the  adoption,  to  wit  the  re- 
demption of  the  body  " — this  lower  imperfect  creation 
is  His  kingdom  also.  Thus  it  was,  that  upon  our 
Lord's  ascension  to  heaven  it  was  ordained  that  to 
Him  every  knee  should  bow,  of  things  in  heaven,  and 
things  in  earth,  and  things  under  the  earth ;  and  that 
every  tongue  should  confess  that  Jesus  Christ  is  Lord, 
to  the  glory  of  God  the  Father, 

What  ought  to  be  our  feelings  therefore,  who  know 
that  our  Lord  and  God,  who  reigns  in  heaven,  is  man 
too — that  he  is  man  now ;  and  will  be  for  ever  in  the 
fulness  of  glorified  human  nature  ?    Different  feel- 
ings possess  us  as  we  contemplate  this  glorified  human 
nature  in  Christ  our  Judge,  or  our  Intercessor.  And 
first,  this  Divine  Person,  who  will  come  to  be  our  Judge, 
and  who  now  discerneth  the  thoughts  and  intents  of 
all  hearts,  sees  into  all  men's  motives,  penetrates  into 
their  secret  wishes  and  aims,  sees  the  struggle  between 
good  and  evil  going  on  within  them,  and  the  good 
conquering  in  some,  the  evil  in  others — this  Divine 
Person  who  sees  all  this,  is  in  a  mysterious  but  ab- 
solutely true  sense  man.    The  whole  hidden  world  of 
human  interests,  passions,  frauds,  enmities,  jealousies, 
schemes  of  pride  and  of  selfishness,  however  dis- 
guised, is  open  to  the  eye  of  One  who  is  man.  Our 
Judge  is  one  who  appeared  as  man  upon  earth,  and 
who  is  man  now,  "  with  all  things  aj)pertaining  to  the 
perfection  of  man's  nature "  in  heaven.    Now,  how 
would  great  numbers  of  men  who  follow  their  wills  in 
this  world,  pursue  through  life  an  avaricious  and  selfish 
scheme,  give  all  the  strength  of  their  faculties  to  gain 


28o 


The  Ascension. 


worldly  ends,  but  who  do  it  all  under  a  specious  out- 
side, and  have  explanations  and  justifications  of  their 
own  conduct  to  themselves — how  would  these  men 
feel,  I  say,  if  they  knew  that  they  had  to  undergo  an 
examination  and  an  estimate  from  a  very  wise, 
strong-minded,  sagacious,  and  discerning  man,  here, 
in  this  world  ?  Would  they  not  immediately  be  in  a 
state  of  most  painful  fear  and  apprehension  ?  Would 
they  not  feel  it  but  too  certain  that  when  that  man 
came  to  examine  their  whole  conduct  he  would  at 
once  see  through  all  the  disguises  under  which  they 
had  cloaked  their  sins,  that  he  would  penetrate  the 
wall  of  their  self-deceit,  draw  their  real  aims  from 
their  hiding-places,  expose  their  real  motives,  lay  low 
their  hearts  to  themselves  and  others,  and  would  show 
beyond  dispute  what  manner  of  men  they  really  were  ? 
But  if  these  men  would  be  so  afraid  of  a  merely  human 
judge,  who  brought  him  a  vigorous  and  acute 

understanding  to  estimate  them.  He  who  will  judge 
them  openly  at  the  end  of  the  world, — He  who  does  judge 
them  now  secretly,  who  estimates  them,  who  measures 
them — He  is  more  than  man,  indeed ;  but  He  is  still 
man.  The  man  Christ  Jesus  now  scrutinises  these  men. 
Our  Lord  in  the  days  of  His  flesh,  it  is  especially  said, 
"  knew  what  was  in  man ; "  He  knew  what  was  in  the 
minds  of  those  who  came  to  talk  to  Him,  to  ask  Him 
questions,  laying  snares  for  Him.  Before  they  spoke, 
he  saw  into  their  hearts.  He  knew  the  secret  motives 
upon  which  the  Scribes  and  Pharisees  acted,  although 
these  were  covered  by  the  most  pious  exterior.  Their 
hidden  thoughts  were  discovered  to  them.    Well  then 


The  Ascension. 


281 


He  who  knew  what  was  in  man  in  the  days  of  His 
flesh  ;  He  who  judged  man  then,  knows  and  weighs 
man  now  in  heaven ; — even  the  man  Christ  Jesus. 
Are  we  afraid,  when  we  know  we  have  done  wrong 
and  do  not  acknowledge  it  to  ourselves,  and  try  to  hide 
from  our  conscience — are  we  afraid  then  of  the  judg- 
ment of  a  wise  and  good  man  ?  We  are,  and  we  must 
be.  Man  is  afraid  of  man.  We  know  it  is  so ;  God 
has  made  it  to  be  so.  There  is  nothing  that  people 
who  feel  they  are  guilty,  are  more  afraid  of  than  the 
countenance  of  a  man  who  is  able  to  find  out  their 
guilt.  They  would  face  anything  rather  than  this ; 
they  dare  not  look  such  an  one  in  the  face.  Well 
then,  our  Lord  is  man — He  is  man  now  in  heaven, 
though  that  human  nature  is  glorified.  He  who 
reigns  in  heaven  and  in  earth,  to  whom  all  power  is 
given,  to  whom  every  knee  shall  bow,  is  God  and 
man  too.  However,  then,  we  may  fear  the  counte- 
nance of  man,  we  cannot  escape  being  judged  by  one 
who  is  man.  He  judges  us  now,  though  not  openly  ; 
He  looks  into  our  hearts  ;  He  knows  what  is  true  and 
what  is  false  there,  what  is  sound  and  what  is  corrupt. 
Our  hearts  are  open  to  one  who  is  man ;  we  are 
searched  and  tested  by  His  infallible  insight.  "  Per- 
fect God  and  Perfect  Man,  of  a  reasonable  soul  and 
human  flesh  subsisting  "  He  now  sits  upon  an  invisi- 
ble throne  of  judgment,  having  fill  hearts  before  Him. 
Shall  we  not  be  afraid  before  Him  then — the  Man 
Christ  Jesus.  If  we  fear  the  face  of  mere  man,  shall 
we  not  dread  the  face  of  Him  who  is  God  and  Man  ? 
What  a  motive  ought  this  to  be  to  us  to  examine 


282 


The  Ascension. 


ourselves,  to  be  true  to  ourselves,  not  to  tamper  with 
our  own  consciences,  not  to  cloak  our  sin,  not  to  dis- 
semble and  walk  in  crooked  ways.  There  is  looking 
upon  us  all  the  time  One  who  is  man.  How  disturbed, 
how  horrified  we  should  be,  if  while  we  were  plotting 
some  bad  end,  carrying  on  some  piece  of  double-deal- 
ing, another  man  near  us  could  see  into  our  hearts ; 
but  He  who  is  Man  does  see  into  them.  This  is  the 
result  of  the  Incarnation ;  and  it  is  a  fearful  result, 
because,  as  I  have  said,  God  has  so  constituted  man 
that  he  fears  man,  and  that  the  countenance  of  man  is 
formidable  to  him.  How  ought  we  then,  bearing  this 
in  mind,  to  change  our  own  hearts,  to  purify  our  mo- 
tives and  desires,  in  order  to  meet  the  eye  of  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ.  We  cannot  deceive  Him.  He  knew 
what  was  in  man  when  he  was  on  earth ;  He  knows 
what  is  in  man  now.  To  the  hypocrite,  to  the  dis- 
sembler, He  is  a  terrible  Judge  :  "I  am  He  that  liveth 
and  was  dead ;  and  behold  I  am  alive  for  evermore,  and 
have  the  keys  of  hell  and  of  death."  So  does  He 
speak  still  to  all  the  earth.  He  still  scrutinises  the 
work  of  Christians,  as  when  He  pronounced  His  judg- 
ment on  the  Churches,  recorded  in  the  Book  of  Revela- 
tions. He  speaks  still  with  the  same  sternness  to 
the  inconsistent  Christian :  "  These  things  saith  the 
First  and  the  Last,  which  was  dead  and  is  alive  .  .  . 
these  things  saith  He,which  hath  the  sharp  sword  with 
the  two  edges  ...  I  know  thy  works  .  .  .  hut  I  have 
a  few  things  against  thee  .  .  .  repent,  or  else  I  will 
come  unto  thee  quickly,  and  will  fight  against  thee 
with  the  sword  of  my  mouth."    He  still  says  to  the 


The  Ascension. 


283 


man  who  has  the  show  of  religion  but  not  the  sub- 
stance— "  I  know  thy  works,  that  thou  hast  a  name 
that  thou  livest,  and  art  dead."  He  still  says  to  the 
half-Christian  "  I  know  thy  works,  that  thou  art  neither 
cold  nor  hot :  I  would  thou  wert  cold  or  hot.  So  then, 
because  thou  art  lukewarm,  and  neither  cold  nor  hot, 
I  will  spue  thee  out  of  my  mouth."  He  still  says  to 
all  that  He  is  near  them,  and  that  He  examines  and 
makes  proof  of  them,  whether  they  really  will  accept 
him  or  not :  "  Behold,  I  stand  at  the  door,  and  knock  : 
if  any  man  will  hear  My  voice,  and  open  the  door,  I 
will  come  in  to  him,  and  will  sup  with  him,  and  he  with 
Me."  He  still  tests  and  scrutinises  hearts,  to  see 
whether  they  are  true  or  false ;  whether  they  ac- 
cept Him  or  not ;  he  weighs  them  and  estimates  them. 
Let  us  think  of  that  awful  scrutiny  when  we  are 
tempted  to  dealing  falsely  with  ourselves.  It  must  be 
observed  that  St.  John,  in  the  Revelation,  specially 
brings  out  and  calls  our  attention  to  the  human 
nature  of  the  Great  Judge  :  Who  says,  indeed — "  I 
am  the  first  and  the  lust ;  I  am  Alpha  and  Omega : 
but  He  also  says — I  am  He  that  liveth,  and  was  dead  : 
I  am  Jesus  ;  I  am  the  offspring  of  David." 

We  celebrate  then  this  day  the  Ascension  of  our 
Great  Judge  into  heaven,  where  He  sits  upon  His 
throne  and  has  all  the  world  before  him  ;  every  human 
soul,  with  its  desires  and  aims,  its  thoughts,  words,  and 
works,  whether  they  be  good  or  bad.  Every  man 
who  is  running  now  his  mortal  race,  is  from  first  to 
last  before  the  eye  of  Him,  who  as  on  this  day  ascended 
with  His  human  nature  into  Heaven.    But  we  also 


284 


The  Ascension. 


celebrate  the  entrance  of  Christ  into  heaven  to  sit  there 
in  another  character, — viz.,  as  our  Mediator,  Interces- 
sor, and  Advocate.  He  sits  there  as  High  Priest  to 
present  to  the  Father  His  own  Atonement  and  Sacrifice 
for  the  sins  of  the  whole  world.  Under  the  Jewish 
law  there  were  many  High  Priests,  one  succeeding 
another.  "  But  this  man,"  says  St.  Paul  in  the 
Epistle  to  the  Hebrews — "this  man,  because  he  con- 
tinueth  ever,  hath  an  unchangeable  priesthood.  Where- 
fore He  is  able  also  to  save  them  to  the  uttermost  that 
come  unto  God  by  Him,  seeing  He  ever  liveth  to 
make  intercession  for  them.  For  such  an  High  Priest 
became  us,  who  is  holy,  harmless,  undefiled,  separate 
from  sinners,  and  made  higher  than  the  heavens." 
And  He  thus  sits  as  High  Priest  and  Mediator  between 
God  and  Man ;  because  He  is  man.  For  that  very 
purpose,  indeed,  "  He  took  not  on  Him,"  we  are  told  in 
the  same  Epistle,  "  the  nature  of  Angels  ;  but  He  took 
on  him  the  seed  of  Abraham."  He  who  is  man,  could 
plead  for  man  ;  He  who  had  experienced  our  nature, 
knew  its  trials  and  infirmities ;  He  who  had  Himself 
sufiiered,  being  tempted,  was  able  also  to  succour  them 
that  are  tempted.  He  who  was  made  like  unto  His 
brethren,  was  suited  to  be  a  merciful  and  faithful 
High  Priest,  to  make  reconciliation  for  the  sins  of  the 
people. 

It  is  our  Lord's  supreme  place  in  the  universe  noio, 
and  His  reign  now  in  the  worlds,  visible  and  invisible, 
which  we  commemorate  in  His  Ascension.  We  are 
specially  told  in  Scripture  never  to  think  of  our  Lord 
as  having  gone  away  and  left  His  Church,  but  alway 


The  Ascension. 


285 


to  think  of  Him  as  now  reigning,  now  occupying  His 
throne  in  heaven,  and  from  thence  ruling  over  all. 
He  rules  in  His  invisible  dominions,  among  the  spirits 
of  just  men  made  perfect ;  He  rules  in  the  Church  here 
below  still  in  the  flesh.    There  He  receives  a  perfect 
obedience,  here  an  imperfect  one ;  but  He  still  rules  over 
all ;  and  though  we  may,  many  of  us,  resist  His  will 
here,  He  overrules  even  that  resistance  to  the  good  of  the 
Church,  and  conducts  all  things  and  events  by  His  spirit- 
ual providence  to  their  great  final  issue.    "  The  Lord 
is  king,  be  the  people  never  so  impatient ;  He  sitteth 
between  the  cherubims,  be  the  earth  never  so  unquiet." 
This  day  especially  puts  before  us  our  Lord  in  His 
human  nature,  because  it  was  in  that  nature  that  He 
ascended  up  to  heaven.    "  Thou  madest  Him  lower 
than  the  angels,  to  crown  Him  with  glory  and  worship  : 
Thou  madest  Him  to  have  dominion  over  the  works  of 
Thine  hands,  and  hast  put  all  things  in  subjection 
under  His  feet."    So  was  it  accomplished  on  this  day, 
when  our  Lord,  even  as  the  apostles  beheld  Him, 
"  was  taken  up  and  received  into  heaven,  and  sat  on 
the  right  hand  of  God."'     "Lift  up  your  heads, 
0    ye  gates  ;   and  be  ye  lift   up,  ye  everlasting 
doors ;  and  the  King  of  Gloiy  shall  come  in."    Let  us 
worship  Him  in  that  seat  in  heaven ;  let  us  worship 
Him  as  ,Tudge  and  as  Intercessor.    As  Judge,  who 
sees  into  all  hearts  ;  and  as  Intercessor,  who  pleads  our 
cause.     Let  us  worship  Him  with  fear  and  love, 
remembering  both  His  insight  into  us,  and  His  com- 
passion for  us.    He  pleads,  as  perfect  and  sinless  man, 

1  Mark  xvi.  19. 


286 


The  Ascension. 


as  the  second  Adam,  for  the  whole  of  the  fallen  race 
of  Adam.  He  is  our  merciful  and  faithful  Hioh  Priest : 
knowinsf  our  infirmities,  inasmuch  as  He  Himself  has 
had  experience  of  them  ;  and  knowing  the  strength  of 
our  temptations,  inasmuch  as  He  Himself  also  was 
tempted.  Let  us  worship  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  then, 
both  with  fear  and  love  ;  but  also  remembering  that 
in  those  in  whose  hearts  He  dwells,  perfect  love  casteth 
out  fear.  We  were  once  enemies,  but  now  we  are 
reconciled  to  the  Father  by  Him ;  ^  and  being  recon- 
ciled unto  God  by  the  death  of  His  Son,  much  more 
shall  we  be  saved  by  His  life.  On  this  day  He  hath 
led  captivity  captive,  and  received  gifts  for  men.  By 
one  man,  Jesus  Christ,  the  grace  of  God,  and  the  gift 
by  grace,  hath  abounded  unto  many.  By  the  right- 
eousness of  one  the  free  gift  hath  come  upon  all  men 
to  justification  of  life.  As  sin  hath  reigned  unto  death, 
so  does  grace  reign  through  righteousness  unto  eternal 
life.  And  as  by  one  man's  offence  death  reigned 
by  one  ;  so  by  one,  Jesus  Christ,  shall  they  who 
receive  abundance  of  grace,  and  of  the  gift  of  right- 
eousness, reign  in  life  eternal.-  Even  so  has  He  led 
captivity  captive,  and  received  gifts  for  men.  He  has 
conquered  the  devU,  He  has  freed  us  from  the  chains 
of  sin,  or  that  power  of  sia  in  our  natiu'e  which,  by 
one  man's  ofience,  we  inherit.  He  hath  put  all  enemies 
under  His  feet,  even  death  itself,  which,  through  Him, 
is  swallowed  up  in  victory.  These  are  His  captives. 
Again,  He  has  endowed  us  with  grace,  and  the  gift 
of  righteousness,  and  hatli  opened  to  us  the  doors  of 

1  Roiu.  V.  10.  -  Roiu.  V.  17. 


TJic  Ascension. 


287 


heaven, — these  are  His  gifts.  Let  us  show  our  thank- 
fulness for  them  by  raising  our  hearts  to  Him  in 
prayer,  by  endeavouring  to  live  as  citizens  of  heaven, 
and  as  risen  with  Christ ;  and  by  seeking  "  those 
things  which  are  above,  where  Christ  sitteth  on  the 
right  hand  of  God."  ^ 

1  Col.  iii.  1. 


GRATITUDE. 


Luke  xvii.  1 7. 

"  And  Jesus  armoering  said,  Were  there  not  ten  cleansed  ?  but  where 
are  the  nine  ? 

"  There  are  not  found  to  give  glory  to  God,  save  this  stranger." 

^^HEEE  is  perhaps  no  fault  tliat  men  think  more 
monstrous  in  other  people  than  ingratitude. 
Other  faults  are  indulgences  of  nature ;  this  seems 
against  nature.  Yet  the  multitude  of  complaints  that 
one  hears  from  persons  on  all  sides  of  the  ingratitude 
of  men  towards  them,  shows  that  people  may  easily 
commit  it.  On  the  other  hand,  particular  instances 
of  it  are  carefully  treasured  up,  as  if  they  were  rarities, 
and  deserved  special  notice.  The  question  being  so 
often  raised  tells  on  the  side  of  there  being  some  diffi- 
culties in  the  way  of  this  virtue,  which  j^eople  do  not 
see  when  they  think  it  so  easy  and  so  matter-of-course 
a  thing.  It  seems  to  show  that  there  is  a  trial  of 
principle  in  the  case ;  and  that,  just  as  in  other  trials 
of  principle,  unless  people  are  careful  about  themselves 
they  will  fail. 

Take  these  nine  men  who  went  their  way  after 
they  had  been  cured  of  their  leprosy  without  saying  a 
word;  not  returning  even  to  give  thanks  for  their  cure. 
How  eager  they  doubtless  were  to  obtain  a  cure  while 


Gratitude. 


289 


they  were  still  lepers  ;  how  they  longed  for  the  removal 
of  their  disease ;  what  promises  of  service  were  they 
ready  to  make,  to  the  man  who  would  and  could  restore 
them  to  health  !  What  would  they  not  give  any  one  for 
such  a  benefit !  This  was  a  sort  of  gratitude  before- 
hand, an  imaginary  gratitude ;  they  thought  them- 
selves equal  to  any  amount  of  grateful  action,  before 
they  got  what  they  wanted.  But  when  they  got  it, 
what  a  change  immediately  in  then-  whole  minds ! 
Their  former  feeling  was  the  eagerness  of  want ;  when 
the  want  was  gone  the  grateful  feeling-  went  with  it. 
All  at  once  their  situation  was  quite  changed,  a  new 
future,  with  all  its  contingencies,  opened  out  before 
them.  They  could  now  afford  to  think  and  reflect  on 
the  possible  danger  they  might  incur  by  any  further 
connection  with  our  Lord.  Jesus  Christ  was  narrowly 
watched,  and  all  those  who  had  anything  to  do  with 
Him  were  watched  also,  by  the  Pharisees  and  others 
who  had  power  in  their  hands,  and  could  make  that 
power  felt  by  those  whom  they  suspected  of  any  friendly 
relations  with  Him.  Was  it  wise  to  commit  themselves 
to  a  beginning  of  communication  with  Him  ?  We  know 
from  St.  John's  Gospel  that  the  blind  man  was  in  danger 
of  persecution,  and  fell  under  strong  suspicion,  because 
he  sj)oke  well  of  Him  who  had  cured  him,  and  expressed 
himself  grateful.  Nay,  even  to  receive  a  cure  from 
our  Lord  was  in  itself  an  offence  in  the  eyes  of  many. 
Perhaps  this  immediately  occurred  to  the  nine  lepers ; 
who,  in  consequence,  thought  that  the  best  thing  for 
themselves  they  could  do  in  such  a  case  was  to  take 

themselves  instantaneously  away.    Or  perhaps  they 

u 


290 


Gratitude. 


were  afraid  that  our  Lord  might  have  a  claim  upon 
them  to  be  His  disciples,  and  that  He  would  begin  to 
press  it.  Or,  perhaps,  as  soon  as  ever  they  felt  them- 
selves like  other  men,  they  were  seized  with  the  wish 
to  go  back  to  their  aflairs,  and  mix  with  the  world 
again.  They  were  in  a  hurry  to  be  once  more  men  iu 
the  world,  doing  what  other  people  do,  and  impatient  of 
any  delay  which  kept  them  a  moment  back  from  theii' 
business  and  their  interests.  Whatever  their  thoughts, 
whichever  consideration  occupied  them,  whether  one 
or  all  of  these  new  ideas  crowded  into  their  minds  on 
the  instant,  the  cause  of  it  was  that  their  supreme  want 
had  been  relieved.  There  was  room  for  such  new 
interests.  The  longing  and  yearning  for  something 
withheld  from  them  was  over ;  they  were  no  longer 
under  this  pressure ;  they  were  at  ease ;  they  could 
think,  they  could  consider,  they  could  look  about  them. 
And  nine  out  of  the  ten  made  use  of  this  moment  of 
consideration  to  determine  to  be  seen  no  longer  in 
company  with  our  Lord,  and  not  to  delay  an  instant  a 
return  to  their  place  in  the  world.  With  their  need 
of  a  cure  their  gratitude  for  it  expired,  and  they  did 
not  return  to  give  thanks. 

There  is  another  source  of  an  ungrateful  mind, 
which  perhaps  also  may  have  had  a  place  in  the 
tempers  of  these  men.  As  soon  as  ever  a  man  gets 
what  he  wants  he  thinks  the  higher  of  himself.  His 
first  reflection  often  is — This  is  my  due,  this  is  no  more 
than  I  have  a  right  to ;  why  should  I  be  grateful  for 
it  ?  So  the  nine  lepers  may  have  reasoned  :  they  may 
have  said  to  themselves,  After  all.  He  has  only  made 


Gratitude. 


291 


us  like  other  men  ;  we  have  a  claim  to  be  this ;  it  is 
a  hardship  if  we  are  not.  The  loathsome  disease  was 
an  injustice  and  a  grievance  ;  health  is  our  right ;  we 
have  now  got  this  right ;  but  there  is  no  reason  why 
we  need  be  under  a  burdensome  sense  of  gratitude  for 
it.    We  are  only  made  whole. 

Here,  then,  are  a  certain  number  of  obstructions  to 
the  proper  sense  of  gratitude,  which  are  of  considerable 
strength,  and  tell  upon  people's  conduct.  These  im- 
pediments come  in  according  to  the  situation  in  which 
men  are  placed,  and  sometimes  one  of  them  may  act, 
and  sometimes  another.  The  moment  when  a  man 
gets  what  he  wants  is  a  testing  one,  it  carries  a  trial 
and  probation  with  it :  or  if,  for  the  instant,  his  feeling 
is  excited,  the  after  time  is  a  trial.  There  is  a  sudden  re- 
version, a  reaction  in  the  posture  of  his  mind,  when  from 
needing  something  greatly,  he  gets  it.  Immediately 
his  mind  can  receive  thoughts  which  it  could  not 
entertain  before ;  which  the  pressure  of  urgent  want 
kept  out  altogether.  In  the  first  place,  his  benefactor 
is  no  longer  necessary  to  him  ;  that  makes  a  great  dif- 
ference. In  a  certain  way  people's  hearts  are  warmed 
by  a  state  of  vehement  desire  and  longing,  and  anybody 
who  can  relieve  it  appears  like  an  angel  to  them.  But 
when  the  necessity  is  past,  then  they  can  judge  their 
benefactor, — if  not  altogether  as  an  indifferent  person, 
if  they  would  feel  ashamed  of  this, — still  in  a  way  very 
different  from  what  they  did  before.  The  delivery 
from  great  need  of  him  is  also  the  removal  of  a  strong 
bias  for  him.  Again,  they  can  think  of  themselves 
immediately,  and  their  rights,  and  what  they  ought  to 


292 


Gratitude. 


have,  till  even  a  sense  of  ill-usaofe  arises  that  the  good 
conferred  has  been  ■v\^thheld  so  long.  All  this  class 
of  thoughts  springs  up  in  a  man's  heart  as  soon  as  he 
is  relieved  from  some  great  want.  While  he  was  suf- 
fering the  want,  any  supplier  of  it  was  as  a  messenger 
from  heaven.  Now  he  is  only  one  through  whom  he 
has  what  rightfully  belongs  to  him  ;  his  benefactor  has 
been  a  convenience  to  him,  but  no  more.  The  com- 
plaining spirit,  or  sense  of  grievance,  which  is  so 
common  in  the  world,  is  a  potent  obstacle  to  the 
growth  of  the  spirit  of  gratitude  in  the  heart.  So  long 
as  a  man  thinks  that  every  loss  and  misfortune  he  has 
suffered  was  an  ill-usage,  so  long  he  will  never  be  pro- 
perly impressed  by  the  kindness  which  relieves  him 
from  it.  He  will  regard  this  as  only  a  late  amends 
made  to  him,  and  by  no  means  a  perfect  one  then. 
And  this  querulous  temper,  which  chafes  at  all  the 
calamities  and  deprivations  of  life,  as  if  living  under 
an  unjust  dispensation  in  being  under  the  rule  of 
Providence,  is  much  too  prevalent  a  one.  Where  it 
is  not  ojDenly  expressed,  it  is  often  secretly  fostered, 
and  affects  the  habit  of  a  man's  mind.  Men  of  this 
temper,  then,  are  not  grateful ;  they  think  of  their  owti 
deserts,  not  of  others'  kindness.  They  are  jealous  of 
any  claim  on  their  gratitude,  because,  to  own  them- 
selves grateful  would  be,  they  think,  to  acknowledge 
that  this  or  that  is  not  their  right.  Nor  is  a  sullen 
temper  the  only  unthankful  recipient  of.  benefits. 
There  is  a  complacency  resulting  from  too  high  a  self- 
estimate,  which  equally  prevents  a  man  from  entertain- 
ing the  idea  of  gratitude.    Those  who  are  possessed 


Gratitude. 


293 


with  the  notion  of  their  own  importance  take  every- 
thing as  if  it  was  their  due.  Gratitude  is  essentially 
the  characteristic  of  the  humble-minded,  of  those  who 
are  not  prepossessed  with  the  notion  that  they  deserve 
more  than  any  one  can  give  them ;  who  are  capable 
of  regarding  a  service  done  them  as  a  free  gift,  not  a 
payment  or  tribute  which  their  own  claims  have 
extorted. 

I  will  mention  another  failing  much  connected  with 
the  last-named  ones,  which  prevents  the  growth  of  a 
grateful  spirit.  The  habit  of  taking  oflfence  at  trifles 
is  an  extreme  enemy  to  gratitude.  There  is  no  amount 
of  benefits  received,  no  length  of  time  that  a  person 
has  been  a  benefactor,  which  is  not  forgotten  in  a 
moment  by  one  under  the  influence  of  this  habit.  The 
slightest  apparent  oflence,  though  it  may  succeed  ever 
so  long  a  course  of  good  and  kind  acts  from  another, 
obliterates  in  a  moment  the  kindnesses  of  years.  The 
mind  broods  over  some  passing  inadvertence  or 
fancied  neglect  till  it  assumes  gigantic  dimensions, 
obscuring  the  past.  Nothing  is  seen  but  the  act 
which  has  displeased.  Everything  else  is  put  aside. 
Again,  how  does  the  mere  activity  of  life  and  business, 
in  many  people,  oust  almost  immediately  the  impres- 
sion of  any  kind  service  done  them.  They  have  no  room 
in  their  minds  for  such  recollections.  As  soon  as  one 
great  want  is  satisfied,  another  arises,  and  then  an- 
other. Are  they  beholden  then  to  any  one  for  the 
past  ?  they  have  put  the  past  behind  them  ;  they  are 
occupied  with  the  future.  Each  wish,  as  it  is  fulfilled, 
becomes  insignificant  in  their  eyes  in  comparison  with 


294 


Gratitude. 


some  other  which  rises  up  in  its  place  :  and  he  who 
fulfilled  it  for  them  vanishes  from  their  minds  too.  It 
is  all  hurrying  and  pressing  after  something  before 
them ;  they  look  not  behind. 

Such  are  the  shackles  upon  the  mind  which  arise 
out  of  its  own  wilfulness,  when  the  law  of  gratitude 
has  to  be  fulfilled.  It  seems  an  easy  law  enough  in 
the  distance  ;  nay,  a  pleasant  law,  a  law  that  everybody 
would  like  to  acknowledge  and  submit  to, — inclination 
and  duty  would  seem  to  agree  here ;  but  when  it 
comes  to  the  point,  there  are  so  many  influences  to 
clog  and  impede  the  grateful  action  of  the  mind ! — its 
pride,  its  jealousy,  its  busy  pursuit  of  its  own  ends. 
These  one  and  all  weigh  heavily  upon  it ;  obtruding 
plausible  reasons  why  it  should  claim  a  dispensation 
from  this  law.  We  alter  our  view  of  the  rights  of  the 
case  upon  second  thoughts,  the  simplicity  of  the  duty 
goes ;  the  plain  appeal  to  the  heart  is  lost ;  petty 
passions  and  trifling  thoughts  and  fancies  reign. 
Everything  is  listened  to  before  this  one  clear  law  of 
nature  and  religion  ;  the  higher  mind  in  us  is  stifled, 
and  gives  way  to  the  lower. 

How  is  man  to  be  raised  above  this  low  level,  these 
unworthy  influences,  and  made  to  hear  the  voice  of 
God  speaking  within  him  ? — ^made  to  acknowledge  the 
feelings  which  God  has  implanted  in  him  ?  In  what 
way  must  we  rescue  ourselves  from  this  dominion  of 
petty  motives  which  prevent  us  fulfilling  the  very 
plainest  and  most  do^\Tiright  duty  which  exists  ?  Go 
to  Scripture  and  see  how  this  duty  is  put  before  us 
there.     How  does  the  divine  impulse  of  gratitude 


Gratitude. 


295 


come  forth  and  demonstrate  itself  in  that  sinoie  one 

o 

of  the  ten,  who  "  when  he  saw  that  he  was  healed 
turned  back,  and  with  a  loud  voice  glorified  God;  and 
fell  down  on  his  face  at  His  feet,  giving  Him  thanks." 
Who  can  doubt  that  this  man  was  far  happier  in  his 
condition  of  mind,  that  he  felt  a  more  full  and  ample 
and  inspiriting  enjojinent  of  his  cure,  that  he  ex- 
perienced more  exquisite  sensations  than  any  of 
the  nine  who  departed  without  uttering  a  word  of 
thankfulness  \  His  supreme  joy  fulness  and  exultation 
are  proclaimed  in  the  tones  with  which  he  utters  them, 
— in  the  loud  voice  with  which  he  glorified  God.  What 
strength  of  feeling  is  here ;  out  of  the  abundance  of 
the  heart  the  mouth  speaketh;  he  is  not  silent,  he 
cannot  restrain  his  voice,  he  cannot  bear  that  his 
thankfulness  should  only  be  felt  within  his  own  breast; 
he  must  utter  it;  he  must  utter  it  aloud;  all  shall  know 
how  he  rejoices  for  the  mercy  bestowed — all  shall  hear 
him  thank  God  for  what  He  has  done  for  him.  How 
superior,  how  much  stronger  his  delight  in  God's  gift, 
to  that  of  the  other  nine  who  slunk  away.  We  see 
that  he  was  transported,  that  he  was  filled  to  over- 
flowing with  joy  of  heart,  and  that  he  triumphed  in 
the  sense  of  the  Divine  goodness.  It  was  the  exulta- 
tion of  faith ;  he  felt  there  was  a  God  in  the  world, 
and  that  God  was  good.  What  greater  joy  can  be 
imparted  to  the  heart  of  man  than  that  which  this 
truth,  thoroughly  embraced,  imparts  ? 

Gratitude  is  thus  specially  a  self-rewarding  virtue;  it 
makes  those  who  have  it  so  far  happier  than  those  who 
have  it  not.    It  inspires  the  mind  with  lively  impres- 


296 


Gratitude. 


sions,  and  when  it  is  habitual,  with  an  habitual  cheer- 
fulness and  content,  of  which  those  who  are  without 
it  have  no  experience  or  idea.  Can  the  sullen  and 
torpid  and  jealous  mind  have  feelings  at  all  equal  to 
these  ?  Can  those  who  excuse  themselves  the  sense  of 
gratitude  upon  ever  so  plausible  considerations,  and  find 
ever  such  good  reasons  why  they  never  encounter  an 
occasion  which  calls  for  the  exercise  of  it,  hope  to  rise 
to  anything  like  this  genuine  height  of  inward  happi- 
ness and  exultation  of  spirit  ?  They  cannot ;  their 
lower  nature  depresses  them  and  keeps  them  down ; 
they  lie  under  a  weight  which  makes  their  hearts 
stagnate  and  spirit  sink.  They  cannot  feel  true  joy. 
They  are  under  the  dominion  of  vexatious  and  petty 
thoughts,  which  do  not  let  them  rise  to  any  large  and 
inspiriting  view  of  God,  or  their  neighbour,  or  them- 
selves. They  can  feel,  indeed,  the  eagerness  and 
urgency  of  the  wish,  the  longing  for  a  deliverer  when 
they  are  in  grief,  of  a  healer  when  they  are  sick ;  but 
how  great  the  pity !  how  deep  the  perversity !  that  these 
men,  as  it  were,  can  only  be  good  when  they  are  miser- 
able, and  can  only  feel  when  they  are  crushed ;  that 
their  hearts  are  warmed  by  the  sensation  of  a  dreadful 
want  alone,  and  by  the  strong  craving  which  that  want 
engenders.  Then  they  long  for  the  restorer,  and  think 
they  would  be  infinitely  grateful  to  him ;  but  let  him 
restore  them,  and  straightway  they  forget  him.  Thus 
it  is  that  their  wretchedness  makes  their  virtue,  and 
that  health  and  security  are  death.  They  soften  at 
the  sight  or  prospect  of  a  benefactor  beforehand;  with 
the  reception  of  the  benefit  they  harden.    Yet  it  was 


Gratitude. 


297 


never  intended  by  the  Creator  that  pain  and  extremity 
should  be  the  only  or  the  main  guides  to  deep  feeling. 
When  we  no  longer  need  our  benefactor,  when  we  have 
already  got  from  him  all  we  want  and  can  hope  for, 
then  we  can  trust  the  quality  of  the  sentiment  that  occu- 
pies us.  The  craving  and  yearning  of  m  ere  want,  what- 
ever aspect  it  assumed  towards  those  who  could  sup- 
ply it,  whatever  its  professions  or  the  fervour  it  excited 
in  us,  was  no  true  and  religious  feeling.  We  must  aim 
at  a  habit  of  gratitude,  which  has  no  relation  to  present 
necessities,  no  eye  to  the  future.  Emotional  feeling 
towards  a  possible  benefactor  may  easily  be  mistaken 
for  the  grateful  temper  ;  but  the  gratitude  which  fills 
our  heart  and  guides  our  conduct  when  we  are  well 
and  safe,  forgets  self,  and  the  interests  and  prospects  of 
self,  in  the  joy  of  thankful  remembrance.  And  as  this 
grateful  spirit  is  the  source  of  joy,  so,  in  a  sense,  it  is 
the  source  of  religion  in  the  soul.  The  grateful  spirit 
alone  believes,  because  it  alone  acknowledges  the  source 
of  its  life  and  being,  the  Author  and  Fountainhead. 
The  grateful  spirit  alone  finds  out  God ;  to  it  alone  He 
reveals  Himself.  It  alone  discovers  its  glorious  Maker 
in  its  own  faculties,  its  own  perceptions,  its  own  capa- 
cities of  happiness  :  and  with  the  grateful  one  out  of 
the  ten,  it  falls  down  before  Him  giving  Him  thanks. 


THE  PRINXIPLE  OF  EMULATION.^ 


Matthew  v.  15,  16. 

"  Neither  do  men  light  a  caiidk,  and  put  it  under  a  bushel,  but  on 
a  candlestick  ;  and  it  giveth  light  unto  all  that  are  in  the  Iwuse. 

"Let  your  light  so  shine  before  men,  that  they  may  see  your  good 
%rorh%  and  glorify  your  Father  which  is  in  heaven." 

T  T  is  a  difficulty  with  many  liow  to  reconcile  the  scrip- 
^  tural  law  of  huniilitr  with  those  motives  which  are 
fomid  practically  necessary  not  only  for  what  is  called 
success  in  life,  but  even  for  the  fair  development  of 
our  natural  gifts  and  powers.  On  the  one  side  Scrip- 
ture appears  to  discourage  all  love  of  honour  or  distinc- 
tion ;  it  bids  us  take  the  lowest  room ;  do  our  good 
works  in  secret ;  not  love  the  praise  of  men,  nor  desire 
to  be  called  Rabbi  ; — i.e.  not  wish  for  deference  or  dis- 
tinction from  other  people  ; — not  let  our  left  hand  know 
what  our  risjht  hand  does.  "  He  that  exalteth  himself 
shall  be  abased,  and  he  that  humbleth  himself  shall 
be  exalted."  This,  I  say,  appears  to  be  flat  agaiast 
all  love  of  honour  or  distinction,  and  to  be  a  condemna- 
tion of  it.  But  turn  to  actual  life  and  the  world  around 
us,  and  see  if  we  can  do  without  the  aid  of  some  such 
motive  as  appears  to  be  here  condemned.    Can  we,  to 

^  This  and  the  following  Sermons  were  preached  at  anniversaries  of 
the  opening  of  Lancing  College. 


The  Principle  of  Emulation.  299 

take  an  instance  to  the  point  on  the  present  occasion, 
do  without  the  principle  of  emulation  in  our  schools  ? 
How  are  we  to  bring  out  boy's  minds  without  it  ? 
How  are  we  to  unlock  the  treasury  of  intellect  ? 
What  key  are  we  to  use  ?  Can  we  do  without  what 
some  have  called  "  laudable  ambition,"  in  active  life, 
private  or  public  ?  Look  at  the  most  conscientious 
and  religious  of  our  statesmen,  and  say  if  motives  of 
this  sort  have  not  operated  upon  them,  and  played  a 
very  important  part  in  bringing  them  out  as  we  now 
see  them,  and  lain  in  more  or  less  strength  behind  their 
whole  course  of  action  and  service. 

What  are  we  to  say  then  in  this  state  of  the  case  ? 
Are  we  to  say  that  Scripture  says  one  thing  and  the 
practical  life  another  ?  Are  we  to  solve  the  difficulty 
on  a  kind  of  Manichsean  principle  that  the  world 
which  God  has  made,  and  has  ordained  to  be  carried 
on  through  our  instrumentality,  does  somehow  or  other 
require,  and  cannot  go  on  without,  the  aid  of  a  set  of 
motives,  which,  according  to  another  revelation  of  His 
will,  are  wrong  ones ;  that  the  Creator  ordains  what 
the  Sanctifier  prohibits  ? 

The  true  solution  of  this  question  appears  to  lie  in 
the  very  old  distinction  between  moderation  and  ex- 
cess,— use  and  abuse.  It  is  against  the  whole  constitu- 
tion of  our  nature  to  say  that  the  love  of  praise,  even 
of  the  praise  of  man,  is  in  itself  wrong.  It  is  absolutely 
impossible  but  that,  as  social  beings,  we  must  enjoy  the 
approbation  of  our  fellows.  That  we  should  do  so  is 
simply  part  of  the  same  law  which  makes  us  enjoy 
their  society  and  conversation,  and  feel  affection  toward 


300  The  Principle  of  Emulation. 

them,  and  concern  in  their  welfare.  It  is  part  of  our 
social  nature. 

If  there  is  any  one  principle  in  the  system  of  crea- 
tion which  we  are  familiar  with  more  than  another,  it 
is  that  the  talents  and  faculties  which  God  gives,  give 
pleasure  in  the  exercise  of  them.  We  see  this  even  in 
animal  nature.  The  beasts  of  the  field,  the  fowls  of 
the  air,  the  fish  of  the  sea,  delight  in  the  motions  which 
the  Creator  has  given  to  them ;  the  quick  flight,  the 
rapid  course,  the  bound,  the  leap,  the  run;  they  delight 
in  the  elasticity,  the  ease,  the  flexibility,  with  which  they 
perform  the  bodily  movements  which  belong  to  the 
species ;  this  is  their  life,  and  they  enjoy  the  expres- 
sion of  it.  And  man  has  a  higher  life,  of  which,  exactly 
on  the  same  principle,  he  enjoys  the  expression  and  the 
use  :  he  has  moral  and  intellectual  faculties,  powers  of 
apprehension  and  reasoning,  pow^ers  of  observation,  of 
memory,  of  speech ;  he  delights  in  the  exercise  and  use 
of  these  gifts.  But  there  is  this  difi"erence  in  the  case 
of  man  and  that  of  the  brute  creation,  over  and  above 
the  difierence  of  the  gifts  themselves — viz.  that  man 
exerts  his  gifts  with  the  consciousness  that  he  is  seen 
exerting  them.  As  a  conscious  being,  conscious  of 
himself,  and  conscious  of  having  others  around  him, 
he  cannot  help  this  consciousness  in  the  exertion  of 
his  gifts.  It  is  part  of  his  nature.  He  knows  that  he 
is  seen ;  he  would  not  be  a  conscious  being  if  he  did 
not  know  this.  What  then,  in  the  case  of  the  brute 
creation,  is  simply  and  solely  motion,  is  in  his  case,  by 
the  very  law  of  his  nature,  a  manifestation — the  mani- 
festation of  himself  to  the  world,  the  world  of  fellow- 


The  Principle  of  Emulation.  301 

men  around  him.  It  is,  by  the  necessity  of  the  case, 
a  demonstration  of  what  he  is,  and  what  powers  he 
has  ;  a  demonstration  to  others  as  well  as  to  himself. 
He  cannot  throw  himself  back  upon  the  unconsciousness 
of  the  lower  creation,  or  pretend  to  their  kind  of  sim- 
plicity ;  all  this  he  was  precluded  from  when  he  was 
raised  to  the  dignity  and  the  responsibility  and  inner 
life  of  man.  He  is  made  by  God  a  conscious  being, 
and  he  cannot  escape  from  his  own  nature  and  from 
the  eye  within.  The  exercise  of  his  gifts  and  powers 
thus  being  by  the  necessity  of  the  case  a  manifestation, 
must  have  in  some  degree  its  pleasure  and  excitement 
as  such.  It  must  give  pleasure  as  being  the  mani- 
festation, as  well  as  being  the  motion  of  the  faculties. 
And  thus  the  whole  of  the  moral  and  intellectual  life 
of  man  is,  not  culpably  on  his  part, — however  it  may 
lead  to  fault  if  not  watched  properly, — but  by  an  ordi- 
nance of  God,  a  manifestation ;  and  the  metaphor  of 
the  poet  is  perfectly  true  in  fact,  for  life  is  a  stage,  and 
God  has  made  it  so,  and  we  cannot  make  it  otherwise. 

But  though  the  love  of  praise,  the  desire  for  hon- 
our, is  in  itself  perfectly  right,  there  is  all  the  difference 
in  the  mode  in  which  it  is  felt  and  indulged.  We  are 
complex  creatures,  with  a  remarkable  machinery  of 
different  and  even  contradictory  feelings  and  passions 
within,  making  up  that  concordia  discors  —  man. 
Nature  does  not  allow  us  to  throw  ourselves  into  any 
one  passion  or  feeling.  So,  in  this  particular  case,  while 
the  love  of  praise  is  doubtless  implanted  within  us, 
there  is  also  something  within  us  which  pulls  us  back 
from  it.     Are  we  not  half  ashamed  of  it  while  we 


302 


The  Principle  of  Emulation. 


feel  it?  Is  not  the  curb  of  nature  strong  upon  the  eager 
impulse  ?  Is  there  not  a  principle  of  self-respect  which 
challenges  and  disputes  this  appeal  to  the  world  outside; 
which  summons  the  man  homeward;  which  sets  up  a 
good  conscience  and  self-approval  as  the  great  reward, 
and  tells  him  to  distrust  other  tribunals  ?  I  believe  that 
every  one,  young  or  old,  feels  that  inward  drawback 
upon  the  love  of  human  praise ;  feels  this  authoritative 
check ;  feels  a  higher  principle  at  work  within  him ; 
bows  instinctively  before  a  throne  in  his  own  heart, 
and  knows  that  he  stands  before  the  Mount  of  God, 
and  the  tribunal  of  a  supreme  Judge,  compared  with 
whose  sentence  upon  him  the  opinions  of  men  are 
wholly  insignificant  and  trifling.  This,  by  whatever 
name  we  call  it — self-respect,  or  conscience,  or  holy  fear 
— is  the  counteracting  principle  to  the  love  of  human 
praise.  It  is  the  deepest  principle  in  our  nature,  and 
is  part  of  our  very  innermost  self. 

A  strong  moral  character,  then,  attends  to  this 
principle,  keeps  its  balance,  and  is  not  carried  away 
by  the  love  of  human  praise  :  a  weak  moral  character 
loses  its  balance  and  is  carried  away  by  it ;  the  man 
abandoning  himself  to  that  part  of  his  nature  which 
throws  him  upon  the  outer  world  for  his  pleasure  and 
reward.  True,  it  is  a  part  of  his  nature,  but  it  is  a 
more  superficial  part,  a  lighter  part  than  the  other ;  it 
is  not  meant  to  be  in  power,  but  to  be  in  subjection  to 
the  other.    He  gives  it  the  pre-eminence. 

I  think  that  this  difference  in  the  use  of  a  natural 
principle — (and  I  would  call  attention  to  this  point  as 
an  important  one  in  the  philosophy  of  morals  generally) 


The  Principle  of  Emtilation.  303 

— that  this  difference  of  degree,  as  we  call  it,  between 
moderation  and  excess, — is  more  than  a  mere  difference 
of  degree  ;  that  it  is  a  difference  of  kind.  Let  us  take 
the  case  of  other  appetites.  One  man  eats  and  drinks 
as  much  as  is  proper  for  his  health,  another  eats  and 
drinks  to  excess ;  the  material  difference  is  only  one 
of  degree  more  or  less,  yet  any  one  knows  that  the 
moral  difference  is  one  of  kind,  that  it  is  a  difference 
between  temperance  and  gluttony.  So  one  man  is 
properly  indignant,  another  is  furious ;  this  is  only  a 
difference  of  degree  outwardly,  but  it  is  really  the 
difference  between  justice  and  passion.  So  one  man 
is  prudent  in  money  matters,  another  is  a  miser.  In 
all  these  cases  what  we  call  a  difference  of  degree  is  in 
truth  a  difference  of  kind,  and  it  is  just  so  in  the 
present  case.  The  love  of  praise  is  in  itself,  as  I  have 
said,  a  natural  appetite ;  but  the  excess  of  it  is  cor- 
ruption and  disease.  When  that  which  is  meant  for 
an  occasional  healthy  stimulant  is  converted  into  a 
luxury,  and  made  our  regular  diet,  then  the  boundary 
line  is  crossed,  and  the  result  is  a  moral  effeminacy 
or  weakening  of  the  whole  fibre  of  the  character,  it  is 
degradation,  and  corruption.  The  man  then  becomes 
a  spoilt  and  pampered  child,  depending  on  this  per- 
petual excitement,  and  fretful  unless  he  has  it.  No 
one  can,  indeed,  look  abroad  on  the  world  without 
seeing  how  fearfully  this  principle  of  self- manifesta- 
tion, natural  and  necessary  as  it  is  in  itself,  has  been 
abused ;  the  frightful  devastation  which  it  has  made 
on  the  field  of  human  character,  the  mischief  which  it 
has  caused  in  every  department  of  human  life.  See 


304  The  Principle  of  Emulation. 

men,  instead  of  taking  it  in  its  time  and  place,  and 
along  with  other  principles  of  our  nature,  instead  of 
simply  responding  to  it  as  a  stimulus,  becoming  wholly- 
absorbed  in  it  as  a  passion, —  as  if  the  one  and  sole 
purpose  for  which  human  life  was  given  was  the 
revelation  of  themselves  to  the  world,  their  powers, 
gifts,  and  ideas,  and  the  disclosure  of  their  whole  in- 
terior before  the  eyes  of  men; — see  them  eager  in 
this  process,  and  indomitable  in  it;  tremblingly  anxious 
that  nothing  should  ever  be  lost,  and  grudging  their 
least  power  or  motion  to  privacy  or  home  ; — and  what 
has  been  the  result  of  all  this  ?  Have  truth  or  society 
been  substantially  benefited  by  this  excess  ?  We  may 
refer  to  this  source,  indeed,  much  eloquence  and  bril- 
liance, many  a  fantastic  theory,  many  an  ingenious 
scheme  and  problem ;  but  seldom  the  addition  of  one 
solid  truth  to  philosophy,  or  one  substantial  step  in 
any  department  of  policy  or  knowledge. 

Such  reflections  as  these  are  not  perhaps  wholly 
inappropriate  to  this  day's  celebration.  We  cultivate 
the  principle  of  emulation,  as  I  have  said,  in  our 
schools ;  we  cannot  do  without  it ;  it  is  necessary  for 
developing  the  minds  of  youth ;  it  is  a  providential 
stimulus  put  into  our  hands  to  apply  at  our  discretion. 
Whatever  risks  may  attend  it  must  be  faced.  And 
perhaps  the  arena  of  a  school,  as  it  brings  out  the 
principle  of  emulation  most  strongly,  so  also  contains 
the  strongest  correctives  to  it.  There  is  no  sharper 
curb  upon  the  principle  of  display  than  public  opinion 
amongst  youth.  In  this  we  have  a  wholesome  yoke,  a 
natural  self-acting  discipline  bearing  upon  any  undue 


The  Principle  of  Emulation.  305 

tendency.  This  coercing  power  may  be  exercised  with 
some  degree  of  roughness,  but  its  general  effect  is 
good  ;  and  perhaps  there  is  no  scene  of  after  life 
which  contains  such  strong  ingredients  of  discipline, 
such  potent  corrections,  for  this  temper.  A  large 
school  is,  indeed,  for  this  special  purpose,  as  for  others, 
a  most  valuable  initiation  into  actual  life.  It  teaches 
the  proper  form  and  use  of  the  desire  for  human 
honour  ;  it  educates  the  natural  appetite,  fosters  it 
and  reins  it  at  once ;  gives  it  its  balance,  and  brings 
it  out  as  a  manly,  wholesome  part  of  our  nature,  in- 
stead of  a  feeble  and  morbid  excess  and  excrescence. 

And  if  these  reflections  are  at  all  appropriate  to  the 
sphere  of  a  school,  they  are  not  wholly  without  their 
application  either  to  those  particular  classes  of  society 
for  which  this  institution  has  been  established.  The 
middle  classes  of  this  country  are  undoubtedly  keenly 
alive  to  what  we  call  the  rewards  and  prizes  of  the 
social  system ;  they  appreciate  most  acutely  success  in 
life.  Nowhere  is  the  maxim,  that  a  man  should  rise 
in  the  world,  should  better  himself,  elevate  himself 
in  the  social  scale,  so  current  and  made  such  a  home 
watchword.  And  this,  perhaps,  is  one  reason  among 
others,  why  the  middle  classes  of  society  are  rather 
frowned  upon  by  the  poet  and  man  of  sentiment,  and 
are  not  nearly  such  favourites  with  him  as  either  of 
the  stationary  classes,  the  one  below  or  the  other  above. 
The  stationary  classes,  both  below  and  above,  acquire 
picturesque  associations  connected  with  time  and  cus- 
tom ;  they  repose  within  their  ancient  landmarks,  they 
represent  former  days,  they  rest  upon  old  ties  and  re- 

X 


3o6 


The  Pri7iciple  of  Emulation. 


lations  ;  they  are  quiet,  soothing,  and  softening  features 
in  our  landscape ;  the  poor  have  the  charms  of  their 
poverty,  and  of  a  certain  humility  attaching  to  their 
station  to  recommend  them ;  the  rich  and  noble  have 
the  charms  of  ancient  wealth  and  position,  the  poetical 
honours  of  time ;  but  the  middle  classes  have  neither 
the  one  nor  the  other,  but  come  before  us  as  struggling 
uneasy  masses  of  life ;  they  have  emerged  from  one 
position  and  are  making  their  way  to  another,  and  in 
the  interim  they  are  without  a  settled  shape ;  we  turn 
from  the  repose  of  upper  and  lower  life  to  a  scene 
where  all  is  in  motion,  and  where  the  bustle,  strife,  and 
dust  of  the  world  are  all  collected. 

Undoubtedly  there  is  some  truth  in  this  contrast, 
and  yet  the  middle  classes  of  this  country  have  an 
interest  of  their  own  attaching  to  them.  Doubtless  it 
is  an  ambitious  class,  nobody  wiU  deny  it ;  it  is  an 
active  class,  all  on  the  alert,  and  full  of  energy  and 
spirit.  No  one  can  have  had  any  dealings  or  acquaint- 
ance with  the  business  type  in  this  class,  without  see- 
ing the  readiness,  quickness  of  apprehension,  and 
power  which  it  exhibits.  And  all  this,  I  will  add,  is 
a  very  important  reason  for  institutions  such  as  these.  • 
It  constitutes  a  call  for  them ;  for  is  it  not  of  the  ut- 
most importance  that  such  a  character  as  this  in  a  class, 
involving  such  power  and  such  results  for  good  or  evil 
to  the  Church  and  country,  should  have  the  advantage 
of  sound  and  superior  training  ?  Doubtless,  unless  it 
has,  and  unless  the  Church  has  some  hand  in  that 
training,  the  Church  will  feel  the  effects  of  it  some 
day.    It  will  find  that  it  has  slipped  its  hold  over  just 


The  Principle  of  Emulation.  307 

the  most  powerful  class  in  the  country,  and  it  will  find 
out  its  mistake  when  it  is  too  late  to  correct  it. 

But  though  middle  life  in  this  country  is  certainly 
a  struggle,  and  a  very  sharp  one,  does  no  interest  attach 
to  it  even  on  that  very  account  ?  Is  nothing  but  what 
is  stationary  interesting  ?  Is  there  not  a  poetry  of 
motion  as  well  as  of  rest  ?  I  believe  that  what  is  called 
the  poetry  of  life,  and  the  romance  of  real  life,  is 
more  enacted  in  this  class  than  in  any  other  in  society. 
I  mean  by  the  romance  of  life  its  ups  and  downs,  lights 
and  shadows,  successes  and  disappointments.  What 
hopes  and  fears,  anxieties,  depressions,  joys,  emotions 
of  all  kinds,  gather  or  have  gathered  around  every 
shop  and  every  warehouse  in  every  town  of  this  coun- 
try ?  Could  they  tell  their  history  what  a  tale  they 
could  unfold,  what  a  disclosure  of  character,  what  con- 
flicts of  feeling !  Everything  has  its  beginning,  and 
what  a  tender  thing  is  that  beginning !  What  hopes 
and  fears  centre  upon  it !  How  easily  may  the  open- 
ing promise  be  nipped !  Through  what  fluctuations 
does  the  little  bark  of  enterprise  make  way !  What 
ventures  must  be  run  !  For  I  have  set  my  life  upon 
a  cast,  and  I  must  stand  the  hazard  of  the  die."  What 
thousands  who  have  staked  their  all  upon  some  busi- 
ness project  have  said  this  to  themselves  !  What  pro- 
spects to  the  man  himself  and  all  his  home  circle  are 
involved  in  the  issue !  Is  trade  vulgar  in  the  poet's 
eye  ?  Yet  it  is  by  these  deep  agitations  of  heart,  these 
conflicts,  and  these  emotions, — which,  if  they  were  repre- 
sented properly,  and  to  the  life,  upon  any  stage,  would 
be  thought  the  most  real  poetry, — that  trade  in  all  its 


3o8 


The  Principle  of  Emulatio7i. 


departments,  high  and  low,  in  all  its  enterprises,  from 
the  pettiest  shop  in  the  market-town  to  the  great 
exchanges  in  the  busy  capitals  of  commerce,  is  con- 
ducted. 

As  a  sphere  for  the  formation  of  character  then,  it 
may  fairly  be  questioned  whether  this  struggling 
middle-class  life  comes  at  all  behind  either  of  the 
two  spheres  of  life  just  mentioned.  It  has  its  snares, — 
its  great  snares ;  and  stationary  life  has  too.  The 
humble  peasant-life  has  the  temptation  to  a  stupid 
besotted  indifference  to  everything  spiritual  ;  old- 
established  rank  has  the  temptation  to  luxurious 
indolence  and  pride ;  the  struggling  middle-class  life 
has  the  temptation  to  the  love  of  money  and  eagerness 
for  getting  on  in  the  world.  Doubtless  this  latter  is 
the  spiritual  ruin  of  thousands ;  we  see  it  and  know 
it.  It  is  the  special  fault  of  a  commercial  people.  Still, 
to  minds  of  any  seriousness,  or  that  have  the  least  dis- 
position to  self-recollection,  this  very  life  offers  many 
corrections  to  such  a  worldly  spirit.  It  is  remarked 
that  sailors  are  superstitious  because  they  have  to  deal 
with  a  very  treacherous  and  uncertain  element,  from 
which  they  do  not  know  what  treatment  to  expect. 
The  same  kind  of  reason,  operating  in  a  different  sphere, 
has  often  made  the  English  trader  and  merchant 
religious.  He  is  conversant,  to  a  degree  in  which  those 
who  belong  to  the  stationary  classes  are  not,  with  the 
extraordinary  uncertainty  of  human  events  ;  and  in  the 
sphere  of  risk  and  venture  in  which  he  lives  (and  even 
without  morbid  speculation  all  trade  must  involve  a 
great  deal  of  this),  he  is,  as  compared  to  the  latter, 


The  Principle  of  Emtilatioii.  309 

something  like  what  a  sailor  is  to  the  landsman. 
There  is  something  in  such  a  situation  which  inspires 
a  wholesome  fear ;  he  feels  himself  in  the  midst  of 
what  he  cannot  control,  and  looks  with  awe  upon  that 
wonderful  machinery  of  human  events  in  which  he  is 
so  implicated,  the  springs  of  which  are  hidden  from 
him,  and  are  touched  by  some  power  above  and  beyond 
him.  "  Lo,  he  goeth  by  me,  and  I  see  him  not :  he 
passeth  on  also,  but  I  perceive  him  not.  Behold,  he 
taketh  away,  who  can  hinder  him?  Who  will  say 
unto  him,  What  doest  thou  ?  "  Even  success  itself  in- 
spires fear ;  even  the  favouring  wave,  as  it  lifts  him  up, 
gives  him  the  sense  of  danger  ;  his  heart  sinks  ;  he  fears 
he  knows  not  what,  and  he  would  fain  appease  the 
O^Qv  (fidovepov  with  self-renouncing  thoughts.  Thus,  at 
the  very  moment  of  some  prosperous  climax,  just  as 
the  height  is  gained,  a  calm  has  come  over  him  like 
the  stillness  of  the  grave ;  a  feeling  that  all  is  over, 
and  the  end  come ;  he  looks  behind  him  and  before 
him, — on  the  vista  of  an  irrevocable  past,  and  the  veil 
which  lies  over  the  life  that  remains  to  him,  and  he 
feels  himself  indeed  a  stranger  and  a  sojourner  upon 
the  earth. 

But  whatever  may  be  the  religious  effect  attaching 
to  situations  of  uncertainty  and  risk,  certain  it  is  that 
we  have  our  calendar  of  rehgious  merchants ;  witness 
our  schools,  our  almshouses,  our  charitable  institutions 
of  all  kinds.  Freely  they  received,  and  freely  they 
gave.  They  returned  to  God  the  money  which  was 
lent  to  them.  That  was  the  secret  learnt  by  many  a 
successful  life.    The  youth  was  early  launched  into  the 


jio  TJie  Principle  of  Evmlation. 

world.  lu  the  morniug  of  life  lie  left  a  frugal,  perhaps 
a  humble  home;  but  he  had  presentiments,  and  heard 
prophetic  chimes  in  the  distance,  and  music  in  the  air ; 
he  spent  the  morn  in  successful  toil ;  in  the  evening 
he  returned  home  again,  crowned  with  wealth,  of  which 
he  gave  his  native  to^\Ti  the  benefit ;  and  there  he  now 
reposes  beneath  the  stone  canopy,  having  left  his  bene- 
factions to  posterity  to  speak  for  him  when  he  was 
gone. 

If  there  are  any,  then,  among  the  younger  of 
those  here  present,  as  probably  there  are,  who  are  soon 
about  to  quit  this  scene  of  preparation  and  to  enter 
upon  the  business  of  life,  and  who  have  the  feelings 
which  naturally  accompany  the  approach  of  such  a 
change, — if  there  are  any  (and  I  will,  among  such  a 
number,  suppose  it  certain  that  there  are  some)  who 
will  one  day  attain  to  eminence  in  commerce  or  pro- 
fessional life,  and  who  have  a  rising  consciousness  of 
their  ability  to  attain  it, — no  one  who  respects  Chris- 
tian liberty  would  try  to  discourage  or  suppress  such 
natural  feelings  and  aims.  It  is  God's  ordinance,  and 
it  is  to  the  great  benefit  of  the  cause  of  religion  that 
Christian  minds  should  mingle  with  every  department 
of  business  and  thought.  Nor  is  the  law  of  humility 
in  our  nature  in  any  real  opposition  to  the  law  of  self- 
manifestation  in  the  same  nature,  which  indeed  is  the 
condition  of  the  very  development  of  om-  gifts  and 
powers,  whether  in  school  or  in  real  life.  But  there 
are  serious  cautions  which  I  need  hardly  suggest  to 
those  who  must  be  so  familiar  with  them.  There  is 
all  the  difierence  between  the  world  exercising  and 


The  Principle  of  Emulation.  311 

developing,  and  the  world  hardening,  the  mind  ;  there 
is  all  the  difference  between  one  kind  of  man  of  the 
world,  and  another ;  between  one  who,  as  he  rises  in 
life,  keeps  up  old  friendships  and  family  ties,  and  re- 
members early  lessons  ; — who  keeps  the  world  outside 
of  him,  and  does  not  let  it  enter  into  his  heart ;  and 
one  who  parts  with  his  better  self,  and  is  absorbed  into 
the  world.  Then  let  us  remember  that,  great  merits  as 
they  are,  we  must  not  think  industry  and  activity  every- 
thing. We  may  overrate  them.  It  is  true  that  industry 
at  first  is  difficult  and  trying,  especially  in  any  new  kind 
of  work  ;  it  is  some  time  before  we  can  adapt  ourselves 
to  it,  and  acquire  anything  like  ease  or  skill ;  but  when 
these  first  difficulties  are  surmounted,  and  the  habit  is 
formed,  then  work  becomes  a  pleasure.  This  is  obvi- 
ously the  case  with  multitudes  of  people  ;  work  is  their 
amusement.  They  could  spare  it  a  great  deal  less  than 
they  could  what  they  call  their  amusements.  This  is 
an  ordinance  of  Providence,  doubtless, — I  mean,  that 
our  labour  should  be  our  enjoyment  also  ;  but  then  it 
leads  to  this  reflection,  viewing  it  as  a  test.  We  look 
abroad  on  the  world,  and  see,  as  a  simple  matter  of 
fact,  that  the  worst  men  and  the  best  men  are  both 
great  workers.  Yet  men  of  the  world  constantly  think 
that  industry  covers  everything.  This  one  virtue 
satisfies  them,  atones  for  every  fault,  and  makes  them 
perfectly  contented  with  themselves.  The  test  is  not 
the  quantity  of  work  alone,  but  the  spirit  and  aim  of 
it  also.  Is  it  not  to  a  considerable  extent  true,  that  as 
man  advances  in  life,  work  becomes  his  real  play,  and 
suffering  his  real  work  ;  that  a  few  months,  or  a  few 


312 


The  Principle  of  Emulation. 


weeks,  spent  in  what  are  beautifully  called  "  God's 
prisons,"  do  more  to  fit  the  soul  for  immortality  than 
years  of  activity  ?  Then  beware  of  that  formidable 
enemy  to  what  is  spiritual  in  man — an  earthly  future. 
True,  an  earthly  future  is  part  of  the  very  life  which  has 
been  given  us,  but,  when  it  is  a  hopeful  and  animating 
future,  it  is  very  apt  to  supersede  the  spiritual  future 
in  our  minds  altogether.  It  is  easy  to  talk  about  eter- 
nity ;  but  the  practical  sense  of  immortality  within  us 
is  really  a  much  weaker  and  fainter  thing  than  we 
often  suj)pose.  It  is  easily  suppressed ;  it  requires 
watchful  cherishing,  like  a  tender  plant.  It  withdraws 
before  strong  boisterous  earthly  hopes, — it  vanishes  and 
hides  itself,  and  cannot  easily  be  called  back  again. 
God  grant  that  this  may  not  be  the  case  with  any  of 
those  here  present,  but  that  they  may  use  this  world 
as  not  abusing  it,  for  "  all  that  is  of  the  world,"  i.e.  of 
the  world  as  thus  abused,  "  the  lust  of  the  flesh,  and 
the  lust  of  the  eyes,  and  the  pride  of  life,  is  not  of  the 
Father,  but  of  the  world ;  and  the  world  passeth  away 
and  the  lust  thereof,  but  he  that  doeth  the  will  of  God 
abideth  for  ever." 


RELIGION  THE  FIRST  CHOICE. 


Matthew  vi.  33. 

"  But  seek  ye  first  the  kingdom  of  God,  and  His  righteousness;  and  all 
these  things  shall  be  added  unto  you." 

TT  is  the  favoiirite  test  of  a  sincere  character  in  Scrip- 
ture  choosing  a  religious  life,  and  the  use  of  religious 
principles,  as  the  first  step,  not  as  a  last  step  in  our 
course.  We  are  indeed  warned  against  being  religious 
at  Jirst  only,  that  is  against  a  religion  of  mere  impression 
— the  seed  which  forthwith  springs  up  because  there  is 
no  deepness  of  earth,  and  which,  because  it  has  no  root, 
withers  away.  But  to  choose  the  guidance  of  religious 
principle  as  a  first  step  and  not  as  a  last  one,  as  what 
is  to  precede  our  active  career  in  life  and  not  to  come 
after  it,  is  the  only  mode  of  choosing  religion  which 
Scripture  says  is  worth  anything.  It  is  evident  to 
common  sense  that  such  a  choice  as  the  latter  is  worth- 
less. Certainly  a  man  may  lead  a  selfish  and  careless 
life,  and  at  the  end  of  it  repent  sincerely  and  change 
his  way  of  living,  but  then  he  has  only  the  last  part 
of  life  to  live  well  in.  For  a  man  at  the  commence- 
ment of  life  only  to  choose  religion  as  something  which 
is  to  come  at  the  end,  something  which  has  its  natural 
place  after  the  active  part  of  life  is  over — this  is  cer- 


314  Religion  the  First  Choice. 


tainly  a  mockery  oflfered  to  God.  What  is  true  at  last 
is  true  at  first  too.  And  yet  that  this  is  a  common 
mode  of  choosing  religion  we  cannot  doubt.  It  is  not 
only  that  persons  go  on  putting  off  from  natural  irre- 
solution what  they  wish  and  in  a  way  intend  to  do 
now ;  they  have  a  plan  of  life  in  their  minds,  in  which 
the  use  of  ordinary  worldly  principles  stands  first,  and 
the  use  of  strictly  religious  principles  stands  last  in 
date.  * 

To  counteract  this  false  view  of  life,  to  forestall  it 
by  the  true  one,  to  put  religion  in  proper  possession 
of  the  field,  to  preach  the  text — "  Seek  first  the  king- 
dom of  God,  and  his  righteousness;  and  all  these  things 
— ever}^lmig  of  this  world  that  is  for  your  good — 
shall  be  added  unto  you,"  enters  into  the  very  de- 
sign of  a  great  institution  for  the  education  of 
youth,  such  as  this  is.  This  is  a  subject,  therefore, 
in  keeping  with  the  peculiar  character  and  work  of 
this  institution,  and  I  Avill  follow  it,  therefore,  into 
one  or  two  particulars  connected  with  that  practi- 
cal sphere  of  life  for  which,  jDerhaps,  the  majority  of 
those  who  are  educated  at  this  place  are  designed. 
I  have,  doubtless,  around  me  many  who  are  destined 
to  rise  and  obtain  eminence  in  that  sphere,  many 
whose  abilities  -^vill  be  strongly  developed  in  it,  who 
have  a  capacity  and  aptitude  for  that  important  depart- 
ment of  knowledge  and  work,  of  which  they  may  at 
this  ipoment  be  unconscious,  but  which  will  come  out 
at  the  proper  time.  It  is  impossible  to  overrate  the 
importance  of  this  field  of  work,  and  the  vast  conse- 
quences which  depend  ujjon  the  choice  of  principles 


Religion  the  First  Choice.  315 


which  those  make  who  have  to  manage  it.  Those  who 
conduct  the  business  of  the  country  have  indeed  vast 
issues  in  their  hands.  So  much  the  more  important, 
therefore,  is  the  service  which  those  schools  perform 
which  undertake  especially  the  training  of  the  men  who 
will  one  day  conduct  it.  There  is  no  disposition,  in- 
deed, now-a-days  to  underrate  the  sphere  of  trade  and 
commerce ;  nor  is  there  any  disposition  to  underrate 
the  abilities  and  powers  of  minds  which  are  required 
for  success  in  it.  Perhaps  all  classes  of  society  under- 
derstand  each  other  better  than  they  did  in  former 
times,  and  so  far  this  is  an  improvement ;  there  is  less 
mutual  depreciation.  Nobody  can  put  before  him, 
indeed,  the  material  with  which  a  man  of  business  has 
to  deal, — its  multiplicity,  its  changeableness,  its  com- 
plication, without  recognising  not  only  the  solid,  but 
the  acute  and  penetrating  properties  of  intellect  which 
are  necessary  to  deal  ably  with  it ; — the  quickness 
of  apprehension,  foresight,  capacity  for  arrangement, 
power  of  keeping  a  quantity  of  matter  in  the  head  at 
once;  memory,  presence  of  mind  and  self-collectedness, 
and  other  high  qualities  of  the  understanding.  The 
sphere  of  business  is  indeed  a  great  sphere,  viewed 
simply  as  a  field  for  the  exertion  of  the  intellectual 
powers,  without  reference  to  material  results.  And 
there  are  thousands  of  minds  whose  faculties  are  deve- 
loped by  it  to  an  extent  which  is  truly  wonderful, 
which,  probably,  would  not  have  been  nearly  so  in- 
vigorated and  expanded  upon  any  other  arena. 

It  would  be  useless,  however,  to  shut  our  eyes  to 
the  great  trials  to  which  the  religious  principle  is  sub- 


3i6 


Religion  the  First  Choice. 


ject  in  this  sphere  of  activity  and  energy ;  and  one  is 
that  to  which  I  have  referred.  And  I  cannot  but 
think  that  this  trial  exists  with  'peculiar  force  in  the 
sphere  of  commerce, — I  mean  the  temptation  to  defer 
the  use  of  religious  principles  till  after  the  struggle  of 
life  is  over ;  till  success  has  been  gained,  and  those  prin- 
ciples can  no  longer  obstruct  and  slacken  speed  on  the 
way  to  it.  It  must  be  confessed  that  we  see  all  around 
us  considerable  signs  of  the  prevalence  of  this  place  and 
date  given  to  religion  in  life.  Religion  is  in  many  cases 
an  impediment  to  the  use  of  a  quicker  set  of  means  for 
gaining  the  ends  which  from  time  to  time  we  place 
before  us ;  it  is  apt  to  retard,  to  cut  off  facilities,  to 
shut  out  short  cuts.  We  do  not  like  to  be  obstructed 
in  our  road  ;  to  wait  for  an  advantage,  when  we  see  our 
way  immediately  to  it  by  one  course ; — to  take  a  more 
difficult  path  when  there  is  an  easier  one.  At  the 
same  time  we  cannot  deny  that  religion  has  a  place  in 
human  aflfairs.  We  therefore  give  it  a  place,  but  one 
which  removes  it  from  being  in  our  way  just  at  the 
present  moment.  We  give  it  a  standing  ground 
farther  on  in  life.  I  do  not  say  that  men  put  this  to 
themselves  in  so  many  words,  or  that  they  are  even 
definitely  conscious  that  they  hold  such  a  view  at  all : 
but  they  practically  adopt  it ;  their  idea  of  the  neces- 
sities and  urgencies  of  a  life  of  action  and  of  a  mercantile 
career  so  possesses  them  that  any  scruples  that  arise 
whether  such  and  such  a  step  is  strictly  right,  give 
way  before  it.  What  would  appear  to  an  impartial 
spectator  to  be  inconsistent  with  the  rights  of  others, 
and  with  a  due  regard  to  the  welfare  of  others ; — not 


Religion  the  First  Choice.  3 1 7 


coinciding  even  with  a  proper  standard  of  honesty, — 
is  by  force  of  will  resolved  to  be  a  law  of  the  calling. 
So  imperious  is  the  necessity  for  the  resort  to  certain 
means,  in  those  who  are  in  the  thick  of  the  occupation 
and  the  excitement  of  active  life,  and  of  working  to- 
ward an  object !  For  it  must  be  remembered  that 
intense  occupation  is  excitement  as  well.  A  man 
who  is  keen  in  pursuit  of  success  in  any  department 
of  trade  or  commerce,  is  not  in  the  steady  and  balanced 
attitude  of  a  bystander  toward  any  question  as  to 
what  is  right  and  permissible  that  arises  in  his  depart- 
ment. His  wishes,  his  hopes,  the  ardour  of  the  race, 
prepossess  him  with  a  certain  aspect  of  such  points. 
He  comes  with  his  solution  of  them  ready  prepared, 
and  sees  nothing  which  he  does  not  wish  to  see.  There 
is  indeed  no  greater  excitement  than  wot\,  when  it  is 
carried  on  for  an  object,  and  when  it  is  continuous  and 
urgent,  and  calls  all  the  faculties  into  requisition. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  give  instances  of  the  sort  of 
liberties  to  which  I  refer,  which  active  commercial  and 
manufacturing  life  allows  itself,  under  the  pressure  of 
this  apparent  necessity,  and  the  stimulus  of  an  object. 
We  are  but  too  familiar  with  the  mention  of  them. 
They  have  been  subjects  of  notice  in  our  journals  and 
periodicals,  and  of  constant  popular  comment.  I 
would  not  say — far  from  it — that  such  instances  must 
be  taken  as  fair  samples  of  mercantile  life,  or  that  a 
class  ought  to  be  charged  with  the  acts  of  individuals. 
Doubtless  there  is  quite  enough  sterling  honesty  in 
our  trade  to  put  to  shame  these  departures  from  it,  and 
to  fasten  all  the  more  blame  upon  them,  because  they 


3 1 8  Religio7i  the  First  Choice. 

are  allowed  by  men  to  themselves,  in  spite  of  the  force  of 
so  much  bright  example  the  other  way.  Still  what  laxity 
prevails,  is,  I  am  afraid,  enough  to  show  how  formidable 
a  trial  of  religion  the  impetus  of  commercial  life  is,  and 
how  great  the  temptation  to  haste  to  get  rich. 

We  all  know  the  numberless  ways  and  shapes  in 
which  ,  this  trial  meets  men — the  daily  cases  which 
occur  in  which  a  man  may  act  with  more  regard  or 
less  regard  to  truth  and  right,  according  as  he  chooses  ; 
in  which  he  may  be  exacting,  take  an  unfair  advantage, 
keep  back  the  truth,  turn  another  man's  difficulties  to 
his  own  account  ungenerously ;  or  may  do  the  very 
reverse  of  all  this.  If  he  hastes  to  get  rich,  he  resolves 
that  the  rule  of  the  trade  is  remorseless,  and  oppor- 
tunity is  always  to  be  snatched ;  and  he  quotes  and 
perverts  the  proverb  that  time  and  tide  wait  for  no 
man  ;  the  temptation  to  attain  an  end  in  view  is  such 
that  he  grudges  weight  to  any  scruple  that  interferes 
mth  the  pursuit.  Such  a  man  may  escape  actual  dis- 
honesty, and  yet  pursue  wealth  in  a  way  to  contract 
guilt.  To  be  hard  upon  others,  and  eager  for  self ; 
to  fasten  immediately  upon  whatever  offers  itself 
for  our  profit — this,  as  a  formed  habit  of  mind,  is 
most  contrary  to  the  Christian  temper ;  it  is  incom- 
patible with  all  true  religion,  and  with  a  man's  being  in 
God's  favour.  Indeed  religion  utterly  condemns  aU 
absorption  in  worldly  ends,  and  passionate  devotion  to 
them,  if  it  is  only  because  it  entirely  shuts  out  spiritual 
ideas  and  aims,  and  prevents  the  whole  work  of  grace. 
A  man  cannot  serve  two  masters. 

Now  it  is  impossible  to  account  for  the  way  in 


Religion  the  First  Choice. 


319 


which  men  who  make  a  respectable  figure  in  the 
world,  and  profess  to  have  a  sense  of  the  truth  of  re- 
ligion, will  allow  themselves  to  be  thus  irreligiously  and 
guiltily  swallowed  up  in  the  pursuit  of  wealth  for 
years,  even  for  the  whole  of  active  life ;  except  upon 
the  extraordinary  strength  of  that  tendency  in  human 
nature  to  suppose  that  it  may  fix  the  date  and  place 
of  religion  in  human  life  where  it  is  convenient  to  it 
to  fix  them.  There  is  a  very  strong  disposition  in 
men  to  think  that  they  have  religion  at  their  com- 
mand in  this  way,  and  can  keep  it  at  a  distance  as  long 
as  they  please,  and  come  to  an  agreement  with  it  after- 
wards, when  the  time  comes.  How  deep  in  human 
nature  lies  the  thought  that  you  may  do  deliberately 
wrong,  and  gain  by  doing  so  all  that  you  want ;  and 
that  you  may  atone  for  it  afterwards  by  the  good 
use  that  you  will  make  of  the  advantage  thus  gained  ! 
A  man  thus  flatters  himself  that  he  will  gain  by  the 
wrong-doing  in  this  world,  and  not  lose  by  it  in  the 
next.  There  come  at  particular  points  in  a  man's  life 
trying  moments,  when  a  great  opportunity  ofiers,  when 
a  new  channel  opens,  when  a  great  step  can  be  made  ; 
l>ut  it  involves  something  to  which  the  conscience  does 
not  readily  agree.  Shall  he  then  avail  himself  of  the 
offer  which  the  world  makes  him,  or  shall  he  foreofo 
it  ?  shall  he  let  the  opportunity  pass  by  ?  It  is  a 
testing  occasion  for  his  character ;  he  is  conscious  of 
it,  and  yet  he  is  divided  in  his  heart.  Has  he  sufficient 
faith  in  the  moral  government  of  God  to  reject  it, 
to  say  to  himself  that  it  will  be  better  for  him  ulti- 
mately to  do  right,  whatever  intermediate  prospects  it 


320  Religion  the  First  Choice. 


may  close  ?  He  has  not :  and  yet  he  cannot  yield  to 
the  tempter  without  some  understanding  with  himseK, 
some  point  of  view  taken  to  break  his  fall.  This  then 
is  the  view  on  which  he  falls  back.  He  will  do  wTong 
now,  and  will  be  a  thoroughly  good  man  afterwards. 
There  shall  be  no  mistake  about  the  religious  charac- 
ter  which  shall  belong  to  him  when  he  does  once  adopt 
it.  He  says  to  himself,  "  First  of  all,  let  me  make  my 
fortune  ;  after  that,  and  when  I  am  raised  in  the  world, 
I  will  do  a  great  deal  of  good  wdth  it ;  I  will  benefit 
society,  I  will  encourage  religion,  I  will  be  a  philan- 
thropist ;  I  will  make  the  very  station  which  I  gain, 
by  the  means  I  now  use,  tell  for  the  advantage,  spirit- 
ual and  temporal,  of  others.  Religion  shall  be  no 
loser  by  this  step,  she  shall  have  all  the  benefit  of  my 
name,  and  credit,  and  position ;  I  will  give  her  all  my 
public  support ;  but  first  of  all  I  must  make  my  for- 
tune." There  is  a  passage  in  a  Greek  drama  in  which 
one  of  the  personages  shrinks  irresolutely  from  a  pro- 
posed crime  which  is  to  turn  out  to  his  own  and  his 
companion's  great  profit ;  and  the  other  says  to  him, 

"  Dare  ,  and  afterwards  we  shall  show  ourselves 

just."  It  is  to  be  feared  that  this  is  the  way  in  which 
many  a  man  has  spoken  to  his  own  faltering  con- 
science, when  it  shrank  from  an  unscrupulous  act  which 
promised  a  great  worldly  advancement.  Dare,  he  has 
said  to  himself, — Dare  to  take  this  one  step ;  this  step 
will  be  the  beginning  of  advancement,  and  when  I  am 
elevated  in  the  world,  then  I  shall  show  myself  a  good 
man,  and  have  the  reputation  of  one.  Thus  it  is  that 
people  persuade  themselves  that  religion  is  not  made 


Religion  the  First  Choice. 


321 


for  the  hurry  and  the  struggle  of  life.  Now,  they  say 
or  they  think,  now,  in  the  very  thick  of  the  struggle, 
they  must  be  allowed  some  little  liberty,  afterwards  it 
will  be  different ;  but  now  one  cannot  be  impeded ; 
now  there  must  not  be  this  check,  this  shackle ;  now 
it  is  inopportune,  unsuitable  to  the  crisis ;  religion 
must  wait  a  little. 

I  say  it  is  difficult  to  account  for  men  who  profess 
a  sense  of  the  truth  of  religion,  devoting  themselves 
with  the  passion  they  do,  and  for  the  number  of  years 
they  do,  to  a  worldly  object,  unless  they  have  some 
such  idea  as  this  in  their  minds,  by  which  they  justify 
and  explain  their  course  to  themselves.  And  yet  how 
low  and  debased  a  conception  this  is  of  the  religious 
character,  that  it  should  rise  up  ujion  such  a  founda- 
tion. Religion  is  a  growth  in  the  human  mind ;  upon 
what  kind  of  soil  does  it  grow  here  ?  Upon  the 
soil  of  a  worldly  heart,  and  the  long  formation  of 
worldly  habits.  But  it  is  an  absurdity  to  think  that 
a  religious  character  can  rise  up  upon  such  a  ground ; 
the  very  nature  of  the  ground  is  adverse  to  it.  It  is 
trusting  to  a  kind  of  jugglery  to  suf>pose  that  religion 
can  spring  up  in  a  man  out  of  such  material  as  this. 
What  has  he  been  doing  all  this  time  but  rooting  him- 
self in  the  world,  making  himself  as  much  a  creature 
of  this  world  as  he  can  ?  And  what  he  lias  made 
himself  that  he  is.  He  is  not  a  better  man  l)ecause 
his  fortune  is  made.  It  is  true  that  when  his  fortune 
is  made  he  has  no  longer  the  motive  to  use  those  ex- 
pedients, or  be  absorl^ed  in  that  passion  of  acquisition 
which  conduced  to  the  making  it.    But  that  is  an 

Y 


322 


Religion  the  First  Choice. 


alteration  of  Ms  circumstances,  not  of  liimself.  It  is 
indeed  a  cliildish  view  of  religion  to  suppose  that  it 
can  rise  up  in  the  soul  upon  a  ground  which  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  production  of  it;  as  if,  as 
Scripture  says,  men  should  gather  figs  of  thistles.  It  is 
even  a  grossly  superstitious  view.  What  gTeater  super- 
stition can  there  be  than  for  a  man  to  suppose  that  by 
a  bargain  with  himself  he  can  do  away  with  the  con- 
nection of  means  and  ends ;  for  a  rehgious  character 
has  its  own  proper  means  by  which  it  is  produced ; 
which  means  he  has  all  this  time  been  discarding.  We 
call  an  idea  superstitious  when  it  cuntradicts  plain 
reason ;  and  sm'ely  this  idea  of  his  is  quite  against 
reason.  It  is  indeed  in  this  way  that  superstitious 
religious  systems  act ;  they  make  men  believe  that 
they  can  gain  a  religious  character  without  the  natm-al 
means,  in  the  place  of  which  they  substitute  some  set 
formal  means  of  their  own  devising.  How  irrational 
to  suppose,  when  religious  character  is  the  result  of 
trial,  as  much  as  the  fruit  is  the  gTowth  of  a  tree,  that 
trial  can  be  dispensed  with  upon  the  understanding 
of  the  man  with  himself  that  he  intends  one  day  to  be 
religious  when  there  is  no  trial ;  as  if  he  could  alter 
the  laws  of  natm-e.  Yet  this  is  what  a  man  really 
proposes  to  himself  who  thinks  religion  not  made  for 
the  struggle  of  life,  but  for  the  time  after  the  struggle ; 
that  is,  that  trial  is  not  meant  to  be  borne  at  the  time  of 
trial,  but  after  the  time  of  trial ;  or,  that  he  is  ready  to 
bear  trial  quite  well  when  there  is  none  to  bear ;  but 
not  when  there  is.  Of  what  value  can  a  man's  aroodness 
be  which  is  the  result  of  such  a  bargain  as  this  ? 


Religion  tlie  First  Choice.  323 

What  can  it  be  but  a  profession  when  it  does  come, 
a  respectable  exterior,  not  an  inward  conformation 
of  the  man  to  the  image  of  God  ?  It  will  sometimes 
happen  that  a  man,  not  really  religious  in  heart,  will 
enjoy  the  good  opinion  of  the  world,  and  that  a  sort 
of  religious  reputation  even  may  be  yielded  to  him, 
and  without  blame,  if  he  makes  a  good  profession  ;  for 
it  is  not  our  part  to  judge  others ;  we  do  not  know 
what  is  in  their  hearts,  and  must  therefore  in  our 
behaviour  assume  them  to  be  what  they  profess.  But 
all  this  is  outward.  A  religious  character  is  an  in- 
ward thing.  It  is  to  be  feared,  however,  that  the  out- 
ward reputation,  and  the  credit  given  them  by  others, 
is  sometimes  abused  by  men  as  a  i^rospect  hefoi'ehand, 
and  as  an  issue  foreseen  in  the  midst  of  the  struggle  of 
life ;  that  they  say  to  themselves  that,  though  they 
may  not  be  so  strict  as  they  ought  to  be  now,  it 
will  all  be  wiped  off,  and  men  will  think  and  speak 
well  enough  of  them  when  they  are  rich  and  great ; 
according  to  the  saying  just  quoted.  They  dare  to 
override  scruj^les,  confident  in  a  future  when  they  shall 
show  themselves  just. 

A  school,  therefore,  which  takes  especially  under  its 
care  the  rising  business-class  of  the  country,  and  gives 
it  a  strictly  religious  education  under  Church  influence, 
performs  a  most  important  service  to  society ;  because 
it  furnishes  the  only  discipline  which  can  effectually 
deal  with  this  peculiar  source  of  temptation  and  self- 
deception  to  which  the  class  is  exposed ;  because  it 
forestalls  the  dtiy  of  trial,  and  imbues  youth,  before 
the  struggle  of  life  comes,  with  that  particular  view  of 


324  Religion  the  First  Choice. 

life  which  will  meet  the  temptation ;  the  religious 
view  of  life,  which  regards  the  whole  of  it,  from  the 
very  commencement,  as  dedicated  to  God.  Its  daily 
system,  its  religious  tuition,  its  religious  services,  are 
a  perpetual  solemn  assertion  of  the  text — "  Seek  ye 
Jirst  the  kingdom  of  God,  and  His  righteousness;" 
they  utter  a  note  of  warning ;  they  say  aloud,  with  an 
accent  which  cannot  be  mistaken,  to  every  youth  here 
— Never  do  in  the  struggle  of  life  that  which  you  would 
not  do  after  the  success  of  life.  Never  be  misled  by 
that  beguiler  who  whispers  into  the  ear  that  religion 
is  too  rigid  a  rule  for  conducting  the  active,  busy 
part  of  life,  and  comes  in  properly  at  the  repose  of  the 
end,  when  the  object  is  gained ;  never,  especially,  "  lay 
the  flattering  unction  to  your  soul "  that  anjrthing  you 
can  do  for  religion  and  mankind  when  you  have  gained 
your  object,  can  make  up  for  wrong  steps  in  gaining 
it.  The  trial  doubtless  will  come  to  many  of  you  ;  and 
when  it  does  come  it  will  not  come  of  course  exactly 
in  the  form  in  which  I  put  it  here  in  words ;  it  will 
not  present  so  distinct  an  alternative,  it  will  come 
probably  under  some  disguise.  There  will  be  room 
given  you  to  make  a  wrong  decision  if  you  so  will ; 
that  is  part  of  the  system  of  human  probation.  But 
whatever  shape  it  takes,  it  will  be  this  in  substance. 
You  will  be  tempted  to  take  a  point  of  view  of  your 
own  which  will  allow  you  to  do  something  which  in 
your  real  heart  and  conscience  you  had  rather  not  do, 
in  consideration  of  your  good  intentions  and  future 
good  services  to  religion. 

I  will  mention  another  subject  upon  which  a  good 


Religion  the  First  Choice.  325 

school  training  is  most  imjiortant.  Under  the  religious 
value  of  such  an  institution  as  this  there  is  included 
one  very  important  piece  of  moral  discipline  and  in- 
struction, which  is  practically  given  in  a  large  school 
in  which  the  morals  of  boys  are  well  moulded,  and  of 
which  the  aim  and  tone  are  high.  And  it  is  a  piece 
of  practical  instruction  which  is  peculiarly  important 
for  the  sphere  of  business  in  which  man  deals  with 
man,  as  competitor,  as  partner  and  associate,  as  em- 
ployer of  the  labour  of  others  in  a  thousand  ways, 
some  casual,  some  permanent ;  I  mean  the  cultivation 
of  the  sense  of  justice.  It  is  evident  that  the  sense  of 
justice  wants  cultivating  in  human  nature,  and  is  apt 
to  be  very  capricious  and  imperfect  without  this  culti- 
vation. It  wants  some  training,  such  exercise  and 
practice  as  will  give  it  experience  of  people's  rights, 
and  what  is  due  in  a  variety  of  cases  from  one  man  to 
another.  It  wants  material  to  work  upon.  You  must 
give  all  the  faculties  of  the  mind  material  to  work  upon 
if  you  want  them  to  improve.  Each  needs  exercise,  and 
an  arena  to  move  and  exert  itself  in,  if  it  is  to  gain  any 
decided  strength.  So  the  sense  of  justice  requires  prac- 
tising ground,  so  to  speak.  A  man  with  the  best  in- 
tentions may  make  great  mistakes  in  any  practical 
department  or  office  in  which  he  has  to  transact  busi- 
ness with  men,  for  want  of  a  certain  experience  of  this 
kind ;  because  his  sense  of  justice  has  not  had  the 
advantage  of  a  sphere  of  practice, — of  cases  to  deal 
with.  In  consequence,  he  does  not  catch  the  right 
point  of  view  in  the  cases  with  which  he  has  to  deal. 
Hence  collisions  in  men's  intercourse  with  others,  and 


326 


Religion  the  First  Choice. 


in  the  transaction  of  business.  Men  often  overrate  their 
own  claims,  not  from  selfishness  entirely,  but  from 
ignorance  as  well,  because  they  have  not  been  in  situa- 
tions which  have  brought  them  into  contact  with  others, 
and  so  have  not  learnt  to  measure  what  is  their  due. 

I  cannot  be  wrong  in  saying  that  this  sense  of  jus- 
tice has  a  most  critical  value  in  the  conduct  of  trade ; 
and  especially  in  the  manufacturing  world,  where 
masters  have  vast  numbers  in  their  employ.  All  trade 
indeed  is  full  of  disputes,  in  which  some  question  of 
justice  lies  at  the  bottom ;  but  the  manufacturing 
world  has  contests  on  so  large  a  scale,  and  lasting  so 
long,  that  society  is  sometimes  alarmed ;  because  there 
the  ground  is  divided  into  two  great  classes  which 
have  most  important  opposite  interests  regarding 
wages,  and  regarding  length  of  time  of  work.  In  every 
strike  then,  there  is  a  question  of  justice  which  lies 
at  the  bottom ;  and  what  is  the  proper  instrument  and 
means  of  deciding  this  question  ?  The  reply  is  a  sense 
of  justice.  There  must  be  a  discriminating  faculty 
which  appHes  itself  to  the  merits  of  the  case,  and 
weiohs  the  claims  on  both  sides.  Each  side  is  bound 
to  consider  what  is  due  to  the  other  side  as  well  as  to 
itself.  It  is  true  a  right  judgment  may  be  resisted ; 
but  still,  if  there  is  on  either  side  a  really  correct  judg- 
ment, that  judgment  must  have  a  tendency  to  work 
its  way. 

One  is  perhaps  the  more  justified  in  referring  to 
this  want  now,  because,  certainly,  there  is  a  disposition 
to  think  at  this  time,  in  the  manufacturing  and  trading 
part  of  the  community,  that  the  judicial  faculty  has 


Religion  the  First  Choice. 


327 


no  place  in  this  department ;  and  tliat  justice  is  the 
result  of  simple  collision  of  interests  working  itself  out ; 
that  it  comes  about  as  an  issue,  in  fact,  of  opposing 
forces,  but  that  it  need  not  be  the  aim  ;  that  the  aim 
of  each  side  is  to  look  out  for  itself.  "  We  live  in  a 
selfish  world,  and  we  must  look  after  ourselves,"  was 
the  reply  of  a  witness  at  a  commission  lately  sitting. 
This  witness  was  indeed  a  representative  of  the  working- 
men  ;  but  though  a  master  would  probably  not  have  made 
such  a  reply,  it  is  but  too  likely  that  the  idea  in  the 
minds  of  many  employers  of  labour  would  not  have  very 
much  differed  from  it.  Indeed,  the  efi'ect  of  repeated 
collisions  is  very  apt  to  be  the  notion,  on  each  side, 
that  all  justice  is  the  result  simply  of  people  standing 
out  for  themselves.  But  to  give  up  justice  as  an  aim, 
which  is  what  this  view  tends  to,  must  still  be  a  funda- 
mental mistake.  For  the  aim  itself  must  tend  straight 
to  produce  effects,  and  good  effects.  It  must  modify 
beforehand,  and  in  the  first  instance,  claims  which, 
upon  the  other  system,  would  only  be  modified  after 
long  detail  and  counteraction  of  opposite  sides ;  and 
that  might  Ijc  done  in  forestalment  of  a  struggle,  which 
otherwise  would  only  be  the  consequence  of  a  struggle. 
An  eye  to  the  rights  of  both  sides  tends  to  cut  off  false 
claims  from  the  first ;  at  any  rate  it  seizes  the  equi- 
table point  of  view  earlier  in  the  contest,  and  tells  men 
earlier  when  to  give  way,  if  they  should  have  to  give 
way, — which  is  a  much  nearer  road  to  a  settlement 
than  each  side  blindly  holding  out  for  its  own.  The 
sense  of  justice  must  tend  to  make  a  quicker  settlement 
than  the  struggle  of  forces. 


328 


Religion  the  First  Choice. 


Now,  perhaps,  there  is  no  better  place  for  training 
the  sense  of  justice  than  a  public  school.  Where  a 
high  standard  is  placed  before  youth,  collected  together 
in  a  large  mass,  it  will  in  fact  educate  itself  in  this 
particular,  and  the  education  it  gives  itself  is  the  best 
education  it  can  have.  There  is,  in  a  collected  mass 
of  youth  in  a  school,  that  contrast,  that  rivalry,  that 
struggle  of  wills  and  choices,  that  opposition  of 
claims  and  rights,  which  early  familiarises  minds 
with  the  field  of  human  rights,  which  makes  them 
know  by  experience  that  there  are  such  things 
as  rights  ;  and  know  that  rights  must  be  met 
and  dealt  with  in  some  satisfactory  way.  All  the 
disputes  and  contests  which  rise  up  among  boys,  so 
long  as  they  are  fairly  carried  on,  are  a  training  to  the 
sense  of  justice.  They  find  out  what  is  due  to  them- 
selves and  due  to  others.  And  this  learning  is  all  the 
better  for  the  circumstance  that  it  does  not  deal  rigor- 
ously with  the  subject,  but  in  a  large  free  way ;  that 
the  aim  is  fairness  in  a  liberal  sense.  There  is  an  ele- 
ment of  generosity  in  all  true  justice.  Indeed  that 
justice  which  tries  to  do  without  generosity  is  a  very 
poor  justice  ;  more  than  the  "  lore  of  nicely-calculated 
less  or  more  "  is  required  here  ;  for  if  people  calculate 
the  judicial  mean  too  nicely  they  will  not  hit  it;  in 
their  hearts  they  ought  to  go  a  little  beyond  it,  or  they 
will  fall  short  of  it.  One  sees  persons  who  aim  at 
an  exact  justice,  with  a  jealousy  of  the  slightest  advance 
beyond  it ;  and  of  all  persons  who  attend  to  the  matter 
at  all,  these  make  the  greatest  mistakes  in  justice. 
Indeed,  true  justice  is  a  high  Christian  quality,  and 


Religion  the  First  Choice.  329 

borders  so  closely  upon  charity  that  we  cannot  easily 
separate  or  distinguish  these  two  virtues  in  action,  and 
say  which  is  justice  and  which  is  charity.  The  sub- 
lime portraiture  of  charity  which  St.  Paul  gives,  is  a 
portraiture  of  the  temper  of  true  justice  too.  Justice 
"rejoiceth  not  in  iniquity,  but  rejoiceth  in  the  truth  ; 
justice  envieth  not,  vaunteth  not  itself,  is  not  puffed 
up,  doth  not  behave  itself  unseemly,  is  not  easily  pro- 
voked." And,  in  the  language  of  Scripture,  justice  and 
righteousness  are  one  word.  The  good  are  the  just 
— whose  "  path  is  as  the  shining  light,  that  shineth 
more  and  more  unto  the  perfect  day."  "  The  memory 
of  the  just  is  blessed  ;"  they  shall  come  out  of  trouble  ; 
unto  the  just  no  evil  shall  happen  ;  the  way  of  the 
just  is  uprightness  :  Thou  most  upright  dost  weigh  the 
path  of  the  just.  And  even  He  who  gave  the  new 
commandment  of  love,  and  who  came  down  from 
heaven  and  emptied  Himself  of  His  glory  to  show  His 
love  to  mankind,  and  save  them  from  death  by  the 
sacrifice  of  Himself  on  the  Cross,  received  the  title  of 
the  "  Just  One."  The  Prophets  "  showed  before  of  the 
coming  of  the  Just  One,"^  "  the  Holy  One  and  the  Just," 
who  was  denied  of  man,  because  the  "light  shone  in 
darkness,  and  the  darkness  comprehended  it  not." 

Lastly,  although  it  is  allowable  to  mention  special 
points  in  which  the  education  given  in  a  great  religious 
school  is  likely  to  be  of  particular  benefit  to  that  im 
portant  portion  of  society  for  which  it  is  mainly  de- 
signed, let  us  not  forget  the  foundation  of  the  whole, — 

1  Acta  via.  52. 


330  Religion  the  First  Choice. 

that  the  education  of  this  place  is  based  upon  Chris- 
tian doctrine.  Certainly  this  is  not  an  age  in  which 
the  tendency  is  to  rest  upon  any  foundation  of  my- 
stery ;  although  those  who  reject  the  mystery  of  the 
Gospel  are  obliged  to  fall  back  upon  mystery  of  some 
kind,  for  indeed  our  whole  being  is  a  mystery.  We 
are  ourselves  a  mystery  to  ourselves  ;  our  will,  our 
conscience,  the  sense  of  sin  which  we  have,  are  all 
mysteries.  The  mystery  of  the  Gospel  is  indeed  the 
corresponding  mystery  to  this  inward  mystery,  and 
gives  us  the  key  to  ourselves.  But  the  key  is  rejected 
byjthose  who  say  they  do  not  want  a  key,  and  would 
rather  have  mystery  end  in  simple  astonishment  and 
confusion  than  in  hope  and  peace.  It  is  remarkable, 
I  say,  that  in  an  age  characterised  by  these  specula- 
tive tendencies,  the  greatest  of  our  new  institutions 
for  education  should  take  their  stand  upon  the  Gospel 
mystery.  It  is  a  cheering  and  encouraging  thought 
that  they  do  so.  Education,  indeed,  upon  another  basis 
would  be  a  mistake ;  and  not  only  a  doctrinal  mistake, 
l)ut  a  great  and  most  overwhelming  practical  mistake. 
It  is  Christian  doctrine  which  lays  hold  on  the  human 
heart,  and  gives  the  power  and  effect  to  [moral  teach- 
ing. If  we  want  people  to  Cbci  upon  what  they  know, 
here  is  the  motive — the  stimulus  lies  in  the  vision  of 
another  world,  and  the  hope  which  such  a  revelation 
kindles.  Human  nature  must  have  a  prospect  before 
it ;  and  Christianity  alone  gives  it  a  prospect.  If  we 
would  have  the  tone  of  society  elevated;  greater  con- 
scientiousness imparted  to  trade ;  greater  liberality  in 


Religion  the  First  Choice. 


331 


one  class  toward  another ;  more  public  spirit ;  more 
benevolence ;  if  we  would  have  the  covetous  and 
grasping  temper  of  commerce  curbed;  more  contented- 
ness  in  society ;  more  peace  and  goodwill — the  blessed 
result  must  come  from  the  preaching  of  Christian 
doctrine. 


THE  INFLUENCE  OF  DOGMATIC 
TEACHING  ON  EDUCATION. 


1  Timothy,  hi.  15. 

"  The  Church  of  the  living  God,  the  j^illar  and  ground  of  the  truth." 

rpHERE  are  two  classes  of  difficulties  in  Scripture,  for 
one  of  wliich  there  must  be  some  explanation ; 
otherwise  God  Himself  is  represented  as  doing  some- 
thing wrong.  The  commands  which  He  gives  in  early 
ages  are  to  do  things  which  in  us  would  be  positively 
wrong.  Before  we  accept  then  what  is  said  in  Scripture, 
we  must  know  that  what  is  primd  facie  wrong  is  not 
what  it  looks  ;  it  must  be  made  certain  that  this  inter- 
pretation is  not  necessary.  Some  process  of  reasoning 
there  must  be,  because  there  is  something  wrong  with- 
out it  in  the  divine  acts.  The  human  mind  must 
refuse  to  submit  to  anything  contrary  to  moral  sense 
in  Scripture.  So  much  intellectual  inquiry  then  is 
really  necessary :  it  is  impossible  to  let  an  objection 
to  God's  moral  nature  go  unanswered. 

But  while  questions  concerning  morality  and  ap- 
parent Divine  commands  are  among  the  difficulties 
of  Scripture,  no  inquiry  is  obligator}'"  upon  religious 
minds  in  matters  of  the  supernatural  and  miraculous  ; 
there  is  no  moral  question  raised  by  the  fact  of  a 


Influence  of  Dogmatic  Teaching  on  Education.  333 

miracle,  nor  does  a  supernatural  doctrine  challenge 
any  moral  resistance.  In  the  doctrine  of  the  Incarna- 
tion, e.g.  we  see  a  wonderful  depth  of  mystery,  but 
there  is  no  inquiry  for  us  to  institute,  there  is  no  ques- 
tion for  us  to  raise  ;  we  have  only  to  accept  the 
mysterious  truth,  which  is  beyond  our  comprehension, 
of  our  Lord's  ineffable  and  perfect  nature.  We  dwell 
upon  a  mystery,  and  we  have  no  search  to  make,  we 
have  no  argument  to  construct.  In  the  former  case, 
while  there  was  a  ^ri'm^yacze  appearance  of  something 
actually  wrong  having  been  commanded  by  God  under 
a  former  dispensation,  it  was  necessary  to  argue  in 
order  to  clear  the  Bible  from  a  charge  ;  but  in  a  reve- 
lation of  the  supernatural  no  charge  is  incurred  ;  here 
is  profound  repose ;  here  simple  faith  accepts  the  great 
truths  of  the  Gospel ;  and,  while  the  historical  portion 
of  Scripture  cultivates  a  succession  of  inquiries  which 
belong  to  its  territory,  the  Gospel  offers  its  sacred  truth 
unreservedly  to  love  and  faith. 

We  thus  see  the  mind  going  on  in  two  totally 
different  tracks,  according  as  some  question  is  laid 
before  it  in  history,  which  compels  the  reader  of  Scrip- 
ture to  see  something  that  has  to  be  explained ;  or, 
according  as  it  is  a  mystery  of  the  Gospel,  which  does 
not  require  explanation.  There  is  nothing  inconsistent 
in  these  two  lines  of  thought  with  each  other.  There 
must  be  a  spirit  of  intellectual  inquiry  in  the  study  of 
Scripture  whenever  there  is  a  question  legitimately  to 
rouse  it.  In  the  Old  Testament  the  question  of  God's 
fojmer  modes  of  acting,  which  we  do  not  see  now,  but 
iwhich  did  then  prevail  in  the  world,  cannot  be  dismissed. 


334 


The  Infiuence  of 


It  must  be  met.  But  because  we  have  to  argue  ques- 
tions, and  disturbing  questions,  when  they  arise  in 
Scripture,  we  need  not,  therefore,  give  up  simple  faith 
upon  its  proper  ground. 

AVhen  public  school  education  was  first  renovated, 
and  made  a  fresh  start  in  this  country  many  years 
ago,  it  did  so  under  the  eye  of  a  great  man,  in  whose 
memory  we  all  here  feel  interest.  And,  perhaps,  it  is 
not  without  its  importance  just  now  that  the  religious 
influence  under  which  that  great  movement  was  con- 
ducted should  be  taken  notice  of.  I  say  that  we  should 
form  a  proper  estimate  of  it,  because  the  religious 
character  of  the  movement  was  so  conspicuous  in  the 
whole  of  it ;  and  therefore  it  wiU  be  of  some  import- 
ance to  ascertain  what  that  religion  was,  and  the  creed 
on  which  it  was  built.  In  Arnold,  then,  we  have  un- 
doubtedly a  man  who  was  ready  to  take  up  contro- 
versy on  critical  subjects  relating  to  Scripture,  and 
who  laid  down  new  views  with  great  boldness,  and 
sometimes  without  a  sufficient  consideration.  He 
entered  very  strongly  into  the  Old  Testament  question 
of  the  Divine  commands  which  run  counter  to  our 
ideas  of  sound  morals ;  and  he  applied  solutions  to 
some  of  the  enigmas  of  the  Old  Testament  from  which 
people  in  general  justly  dissented. 

But  while  there  was  one  part  of  the  ground  of 
Scripture  upon  which  he  aj^peared  as  an  investigator 
and  an  inquirer  into  truth,  upon  another  part,  and  by 
far  the  most  important  part,  he  took  his  place  as  a 
simple  believer,  accepting  all  the  doctrines  of  the  Gos- 
pel without  a  question,  and  taking  his  stand  with  an 


Dogmatic  Tcachmg  on  Education.  335 

absolute  repose  and  an  unhesitating  and  unwavering 
faith  upon  the  supernatural  mysteries  of  Christianity. 
The  Old  Testament  questions  upon  which  he  decided 
with  too  great  haste,  still  in  fact  left  open  to  him  the 
whole  body  of  the  great  doctrines  of  Christianity  for 
steadfast  adherence  and  devout  and  simple  belief.  He 
had  a  loyal  attachment  to  the  principle  of  faith,  a 
fii-m  allegiance  to  it  as  the  genuine  making  of  the  man, 
raising  him  from  a  lower  to  a  higher  life ;  and  he 
accepted  it  heartily,  as  expressed  in  a  primitive  frame- 
work, and  in  a  form  of  sacred  words.  His  contem- 
poraries were  keenly  alive  to  his  errors  of  judgment 
in  this  Old  Testament  controversy,  and  were  too  much 
turned  away  by  them  from  a  true  acknowledgment 
of  the  weight  of  his  doctrinal  teaching  in  the  school 
chapel.  But  it  ought  to  be  said  that  he  combined 
singular  independence  of  mind,  chivalry,  and  ardour  in 
the  pursuit  of  truth  with  the  most  noble  expression  of 
doctrine  ;  and  that  not  only  doctrine  itself  received  a 
magnificent  expression  under  his  treatment,  but  that 
every  collateral  thought  which  gives  support  to  super- 
natural truth  and  the  hold  of  the  mind  upon  it,  was 
fostered  and  cherished  in  his  mind.  He  had  no  idea  of 
truth  being  left  floating  to  find  a  new  foundation  where 
it  could ;  but  with  him  it  was  an  understood  thing 
that  education  must  be  founded  upon  religion,  and 
that  the  religion  upon  which  it  was  founded  was  a 
truth  of  fact.  He  stood  upon  the  rock  of  the 
Nicene  Creed,  and,  standing  upon  that  sacred  de- 
posit, he  had  no  fear  for  the  working  out  of  his 
plans  and  method. 


336 


The  Infiuence  of 


For  without  a  religion  to  stand  on,  what  was  a 
school  but  an  experiment,  without  any  guarantee  for 
higher  training  in  it ;  a  whole  mass  of  human  nature 
taken  in  and  turned  out  again,  without  any  hold  being 
obtained  over  it,  and  nothing  except  its  own  humor- 
ous waywardness  and  impulse  being  conspicuous. 
In  the  trial  of  strength  Arnold  wanted  a  faith  that 
would  be  a  yoke,  that  would  claim  a  supremacy  by 
the  certainty  of  its  convictions,  and  hold  the  school 
together  in  the  bonds  of  a  true  growth,  so  that  he 
might  claim  for  the  school  something  of  the  higher 
union — "  For  as  the  body  is  one,  and  hath  many  mem- 
bers, and  all  the  members  of  that  one  body  being  many 
are  one  body  :  so  also  is  Christ : " — all  grows  together 
from  one  root  of  doctrine,  and  that  is  the  doctrine  of 
Christ  crucified.  "  The  savage,"  he  says,  "  and  the  half- 
civilised  man  thinks  that  he  can  bribe  God  to  forgive 
him  by  costly  or  painful  sacrifices  ;  the  philosopher 
thinks  that  sacrifices  are  not  needed.  But  He  who  is 
in  the  bosom  of  the  Father  has  declared  to  us  that 
evil  must  cease  to  be  evil,  or  that  it  must  be  destroyed 
from  out  of  the  kingdom  of  God ;  that  God's  love  to 
us  would  not  spare  even  His  own  Son  to  save  us  from 
destruction,  but  that  God's  holiness  must  have  destroyed 
us — yea,  must  and  will  now  destroy  us — if  we  lay  not 
hold  of  the  redemption  which  He  has  offered  us.  This 
is  the  love  of  God,  not  to  pass  over  our  sins,  but  to 
give  His  own  Son  to  be  the  propitiation  for  our  sins. 
And  this  proof  of  His  love  shows  what  must  come  to 
us  if  we  refuse  the  propitiation  thus  offered.  This,  if 
it  fully  entered  into  our  minds,  if  believed  with  an 


Dogmatic  Teaching  07t  Education.  337 

imdoubting  and  unwavering  faith,  must,  indeed,  save  us 
all."  Thus,  on  the  one  hand,  strong  and  urgent  on  the 
duty  of  intellectual  inquiry,  always  reminding  us  that 
difficulties  are  not  to  be  passed  over,  and  that  this  only 
makes  weak  men, — whereas  faith  requires  acts  of  minds 
of  energy  and  power, — on  the  other  hand,  he  holds  to 
the  faith  of  Nicsea.  His  language  is  the  primitive 
language.  He  puts  force  into  it,  and  does  not  use  it 
with  reluctance  and  unwillingness  ;  but  .he  uses  it  as 
the  foundation  of  his  school  and  its  teaching. 

And  his  thought  is  primitive  not  only  when  he 
lays  down  doctrine,  but  when  he  deals  with  the 
ethics  which  are  favourable  to  doctrine,  and  points  out 
to  men  how  their  minds  must  be  trained,  and  general 
principles  implanted,  if  you  are  to  have  a  particular 
creed  implanted  in  people's  hearts  and  taking  root 
there.  It  is  this  subsidiary  advice  impressing  moral 
ideas  upon  men,  with  a  view  to  faith  and  in  aid  of 
faith,  which  is  so  charged  with  the  animus  of  fidth 
and  is  so  strong  with  sacred  bias.  One  observes  now 
that  the  idea  of  a  victorious  faith  is  a  great  deal  given 
up  in  many  quarters.  The  notion  is  that  if  Faith  con- 
quers, she  docs  it  by  being  unfair,  and  that  she  gets 
more  than  she  ought  to  have.  There  must  be  nothing 
gained  by  Faith  from  within,  by  the  strength  of  her 
own  spirit,  by  her  own  courage  enabling  her  to  face 
difficulties  and  so  bringing  her  out  of  them.  In  order 
to  be  intelligent  faith,  Faith  must  always  be  beaten  ; 
acknowledging  herself  wrong,  she  is  then  sound  and 
healthy.  Now,  this  is  not  the  teaching  of  Arnold. 
The  usual  conclusion  into  which  people  slide  now  if 


338 


The  Influence  of 


there  is  any  difficulty  as  to  faith,  if  faith  feels  charged 
with  too  heavy  a  burden,  and  the  favourite  expedient 
is — drop  one  part  of  it ;  you  will  be  astonished  to  find 
what  a  relief  it  is,  and  how  cheerfully  you  bear  the 
other  jDart.  The  whole  defect  of  faith  is  made  to 
consist  in  the  weight  of  the  load  imposed,  in  having 
too  much  to  put  up  with. 

But,  now,  the  principle  that  Arnold  lays  down  is 
the  counter  principle — that  faith  must  struggle  from 
within,  not  be  eased  in  every  case  and  have  weight 
taken  ofi"  from  without.     What  you  want  is  not 
to  have  a  truth  taken  off  from  your  weight,  but 
to  have  a  new  strength  inserted  in  your  belief. 
"  You  see,"  he  says,  "  what  it  is  that  is  wanted — 
namely,  to  make  notions  wholly  remote  from  your 
common  life  take  their  place  in  your  minds  as  more 
powerful  than  the  things  of  common  life — to  make 
the  future  and  the  unseen  prevail  over  what  you  see 
and  hear  now  around  you.   I  know  indeed,"  he  con- 
tinues, "of  one  thing  which  would  effect  this  in  an 
instant.    Let  any  one  of  you  be  dangerously  ill,  let 
his  prospects  of  earthly  life  be  rendered  less  than  un- 
certain, then  he  would  soon  think  far  more  of  the 
unseen  world  than  of  the  world  around  us."  The 
principle  upon  which  such  a  question  is  put  is,  of 
course,  that  the  mind  is,  in  the  regular  and  legitimate 
course  of  things,  the  stimulus  to  its  own  faith,  and 
that  it  can  impart  strength  to  its  own  belief,  if  it  will 
take  the  trouble.    It  must  be  considered  that  faith  is 
freshened  by  acts  of  faith — by  doing  things  which 
naturally  follow  from  faith.    "Assuredly,"  he  says, 


Dogmatic  Teaching  on  Education.  339 

"  the  fliitli  you  find  at  once  so  uninteresting  and  so 
hard  to  understand  cannot  be  the  ruling  principle  of 
your  lives — you  cannot  in  any  sense  be  walking  by 
faith.  And  therefore  I  have  thought  that  it  might  be 
well  to  say  a  few  words  as  to  the  means  of  gaining 
this  faith  ;  to  tell  you  how  you  may,  with  God's  bless- 
ing, come  to  understand  and  love  it,  and  to  act  upon 
it,  just  as  naturally  as  we  now  act  every  day,  from 
some  motive  of  worldly  pleasure  or  pain." 

Coleridge  has  a  great  maxim — that  "  to  restore  a 
commonplace  truth  to  its  first  uncommon  lustre,  you 
need  only  translate  it  into  action."  That  is  to  say,  in 
proportion  as  you  make  truth  a  thing  that  stirs  you, 
you  give  it  a  newness ;  you  recommend  it  to  your  be- 
lief, it  strikes  home  to  you.  Arnold's  great  wish  was 
for  a  real  belief,  not  a  mere  belief  of  words  ;  but  he  did 
not  think  this  was  to  be  gained  by  making  a  doctrine 
less  supernatural,  but  by  making  the  mind  itself  more 
aspiring;  not  by  lowering  the  truth,  but  by  raising 
the  mind.  He  considered  that  the  mind  was  to  be 
trained  to  faith  of  set  purpose,  and  by  distinct  incul- 
cation of  all  the  imagery  of  faith  upon  its  attention. 
"  A  child,"  he  sa3^s,  "  may  be  soon  taught  to  love  his 
Saviour,  and  will  listen  with  great  eagerness  when  he 
hears  how  Jesus  Christ  came  down  from  heaven  for 
his  sake,  how  He  lived  in  poverty  and  sorrow,  and 
died  a  cruel  death,  that  we  might  be  made  for  His 

sake  everlastingly  happy  Nay,  even  the  third 

great  truth  which  the  Gospel  teaches  us,  the  sanctifi- 
cation  of  our  hearts  by  the  Holy  Spirit,  can  be  and 
often  is  practically  taught  to  very  young  children, 


340 


TJie  Iiiflueiue  of 


when  they  are  taught  to  pray  that  God  will  make 
them  good,"  We  are  reminded  in  his  general  vein  of 
religious  thought  much  of  Jtlr.  Keble.  The  faith  of 
a  child  was  the  pattern  of  a  grown-up  man's  faith  with 
both  of  them.  He  shows  us  in  an  especial  way  his 
sympathy  ^ith  a  child's  mind  in  the  reception  of 
matters  of  faith ;  he  takes  in  the  whole  idea  that  is  in 
the  child's  mind,  and  sees  how  much  there  is  in  it 
which  is  exactly  the  same  in  the  child  and  in  himseK. 
He  stops  short  where  he  must,  and  the  child  stops  short. 
Both  of  them  believe  and  rest  in  mysteries  of  faith, 
in  the  one  way  in  which  they  must,  as  they  are  im- 
parted to  them  by  the  Di\dne  Spirit. 

Arnold  did  not  attempt  to  penetrate  supernatural 
truth,  and  saw  that  as  a  child  received  it,  so  did  a 
man ;  it  was  beyond  both.  He  valued  the  first  fresh 
acquaintance  of  the  child  with  mystery,  with  truth 
above  nature.  He  saw  the  naturalness  of  faith ;  how 
the  first  impulse  of  nature  was  to  accept  the  Gospel, 
and  how  the  whole  intellect  of  the  child  rose  with  the 
truths  which  it  embraced.  He  had  always  deep  in 
his  mind  an  image  of  believing  childhood,  and  with 
this  association  and  sentiment  was  the  whole  structure 
of  his  dogmatic  language  linked :  dogmatic  language 
was  so  far  child's  language,  that  it  only  put  into  words 
what  was  above  our  understandingf.  The  language 
of  the  Council  of  Nicsea  is  coupled  in  his  mind  with 
the  language  of  childhood.  Nature  so  clearly  fitted  him 
to  be  a  preacher  of  Christianity,  and  the  supernatural 
doctrines  of  Christianity,  that  such  a  witness  to  the 
Supernatuial  Man  Christ  Jesus  cannot  but  arrest  us. 


Dogmatic  Teaching  o?i  Education.  341 

He  has  a  joy  and  pride  in  the  declarations  of  the 
Gospel  which  bespeak  a  real  belief ;  the  very  frame  of 
his  language  shows  it. 

And  now,  why  have  I  gone  back  to  the  activities 
of  former  days,  and  to  the  original  of  the  great  public 
education  movement  ?  It  is  that  we  may  see  the  unity 
of  the  movement  from  first  to  last.  It  began  with  a 
remarkable  alliance  of  education  and  religion,  and  that 
alliance  has  continued.  Making  allowance  for  the 
different  modifications  which  a  great  principle  con- 
tracts in  the  course  of  its  advance,  this  is  the  same 
powerful  combination  that  it  was.  We  here  feel  that 
we  are  carrying  out  a  great  work,  and  not  only  that 
we  are  carrying  out  a  great  work,  but  that  we  are 
carrying  out  the  same  great  work  that  first  arrested 
attention,  as  a  renovation  of  the  educating  power  of 
the  country,  more  than  thirty  years  ago. 

This  institution  is  the  head,  indeed,  of  a  subordina- 
tion of  schools ;  and  we  have  in  him  who  has  had  to 
superintend  this  large  formation  a  singular  and  special 
fitness  for  such  a  work — such  as  marks  him  for  it. 
The  vast  materials  which  enter  into  such  a  plan  would, 
unless  they  had  found  a  head  that  could  give  them 
place,  and  arrange  their  operations  in  a  scheme,  have 
issued  in  a  general  medley ;  but  he  who  is  at  once  the 
head  and  the  founder  of  this  whole  system  has  con- 
ducted it  successfully,  and  gathered  all  its  resources 
into  one  efficient  plan.  And  one  of  the  great  qualifi- 
cations for  this  arduous  work  has  been  the  patience 
with  which  he  has  borne  the  imperfections  of  his  plan 
ill  process  of  its  forming ;  the  gradual  way  in  which 


342 


The  Iiifltiencc  of 


lie  lias  been  enaliled  to  deal  with  the  rising  claims  of 
each  part  of  the  growth,  teaching  every  part  of  the 
whole  to  do  with  as  little  as  it  can  for  the  interim, 
while  it  was  only  in  a  provisionary  state.  First,  the 
building  was  raised  with  only  its  necessary  walls  and 
roof,  and  tooms  to  shelter  scholars  and  masters ;  then 
a  hall  rose,  then  a  library,  then  a  chapel.  There  was 
no  hurry  to  make  everything  perfect  at  once ;  every- 
thing took  its  time  ;  and  its  place  in  the  arrangement 
came  as  it  w^as  allowed  for  in  the  general  plan.  It 
required  one  who  was  endowed  with  great  capacity 
for  action  to  collect  all  the  minds  together,  and  fit 
them  into  their  proper  positions  in  the  working  order 
of  a  large  plan,  uniting  many  institutions.  To  put 
together  such  materials  required  gifts,  the  use  and 
employment  of  which  must  have  constituted  their 
own  reward  in  a  great  measure,  for  all  capacities  and 
fitnesses  take  a  pleasure  in  their  own  exercise ;  but 
it  must  at  the  same  time  have  thrown  a  great  weight 
on  the  mind,  and  imposed  a  life  of  labour  and  pressure, 
and  incessant  calls  upon  the  attention. 

It  must  strike  any  one  who  contemplates  the 
map  of  life,  that  many  different  kinds  of  lives  have 
leading  attributes  in  common.  One  man  is  a  states- 
man, another  man  a  traveller  and  discoverer,  another 
man  a  man  of  business,  another  a  schoolmaster,  and 
so  on ;  all  these  forms  of  hfe  seem  to  come  to  much 
the  same  thiiisr  as  far  as  resjards  labour.  A  life  labour 
must  go  along  with  all  this  class  of  lives.  Wherever 
there  are  things  to  be  done,  carefuUy  and  with  due 
regard  to  time  and  place ;  wherever  there  is  character 


Dogmatic  Teaching  on  Education.  343 

to  be  studied  and  judged  truly ;  wherever  there  is 
accurate  observing,  and  expeditious  doing,  there  is 
labour.  All  lives  that  undertake  objects  and  make 
themselves  difl&cult  have  much  in  common  and  do 
much  similar  kind  of  mental  work.  I  take  up  the 
travels  of  Dr.  Livingstone — it  strikes  me  very  soon  that 
iDodily  toil  is  the  least  of  his  labours ;  I  see  him  in  the 
thick  of  a  problem,  he  has  a  piece  of  reasoning  to  get 
through  that  taxes  severely  all  his  powers.  Who  is  to 
put  together  the  action  of  all  these  forces,  and  get  at 
the  old  secret  of  the  world  and  the  key  of  a  continent  ? 
The  great  traveller  is  a  reasoner  as  much  as  a  traveller, 
working  hard  in  the  inside  of  his  brain,  putting  things 
together — rivers,  and  forests,  and  lakes :  the  outflow- 
ing of  bogs,  the  forming  of  inundations.  With  these 
he  reasons,  a  whole  argument  is  working  up  into  form 
in  his  mind,  he  is  full  of  a  problem.  Here,  then,  is 
the  same  kind  of  work  of  mind  haunting  a  traveller 
which  besets  a  sedentary  student :  while  a  life  which  is 
connected  with  founding  institutions  carries  its  own 
high  qualities,  its  perseverance,  its  patience  and  equa- 
nimity, its  power  of  gathered  attention  to  a  large  field 
of  action,  upon  its  face. 

Let  us  now  turn  to  the  work  of  the  day.  We  are 
to  lay  the  foundation  of  a  new  church.  For  the  com- 
pletion of  the  splendid  design  we  must  look  forward 
another  year ;  we  have  to  do  now  with  the  severe, 
yet  sterling  and  fit  and  costly  foundation,  worthy 
of  its  end.  Laid  deep  in  the  hill  side,  it  typifies 
the  ancient  Creed.  The  cause  of  education  has  been, 
and  will  continue  to  l^e,  a  missionary  cause ;  religion 


344 


The  Influence  of 


has  become  by  use  the  natural  ally  of  education,  and 
so  long  as  education  goes  on,  so  long  it  must  support 
the  Christian  Creed.  This  is  its  natural  work.  It 
cannot  avoid  doing  it.  There  is  a  great  power  in  this 
country,  a  power  which  is  part  of  progress,  and  impli- 
cates the  future,  which  has  signed  a  compact  with  the 
Creed.  Education  in  its  popular  aspect  can  no  more 
give  up  the  Creed  than  it  can  give  up  the  classics.  It 
is  true  the  law  may  alter,  and  legal  constitutions  may 
change  from  one  system  to  another,  and  they  may 
shake  off  the  yoke  of  the  Act  of  Uniformity.  But 
education  as  commending  itself  to  the  people,  and  con- 
ducted by  a  popular  impulse,  must  go  on  as  it  has 
done,  taking  religion  along  with  it  by  a  voluntary 
partnership.  And  both  mutually  benefit  by  the 
alliance. 

You  may,  indeed,  oflfer  an  education  without  a 
religious  creed,  and  you  may  offer  all  the  material  of 
knowledge,  l^ut  without  a  creed  you  have  not  the 
natural  recipient  of  education.  Eeligion  gives  the 
power  of  receiving  education  ;  it  provides  that  serious- 
ness and  weight  in  the  young  mind,  which  knows  how 
to  lay  hold  of  the  resources  to  the  enjoyment  of  which 
it  is  admitted.  How  does  any  solemn  thought,  any 
impressive  sight,  any  memento  of  greatness,  any  gleam 
of  nature,  any  opening  in  the  sky,  set  us  forward  in  the 
work  of  life,  give  us  a  start  in  some  particular  under- 
taking that  we  have  to  enter  upon  !  Well  then,  that 
which  furnishes  the  higher  start  in  the  general  work  of 
education  is  religion.  In  works  of  fiction  there  is  a 
moment  which  makes  the  character ;  the  creator  of  the 


Dogmatic  Teaching  on  Education.  345 


work  of  art  who  wields  all  the  resources  of  moral  de- 
scription, of  sentiment  and  imagery,  may  have  striven 
with  his  idea  in  vain  ;  he  bulfets  the  air  with  words,  and 
loads  the  ground  of  the  drama  with  structures  of  scenes 
of  conversations,  but  for  all  that  the  character  is  not 
yet  drawn,  and  he  has  that  in  his  mind  which  is  not  ex- 
pressed. His  effort  is  to  strike  it  out,  and  to  shape  it, 
and  it  will  not  come  into  shape  ;  but  a  moment  brings 
it  out,  and  the  person  stands  before  you.  That  ideal  in 
the  world  of  school  creation  is  the  Creed.  At  once  a 
school  becomes  something  else ;  something  it  gains  of 
an  end  above  nature,  of  a  supernatural  end  of  its  own 
work.  The  rank  of  all  work  is  raised,  and  the  scholar 
is  raised  with  his  work.  The  school  belongs  to  the 
ages  that  are  past,  and  is  part  of  the  chain  of  forts 
and  defences  of  Christianity. 


2  A 


346 


NOTE  TO  PAGE  27— THE  SYLLABUS. 

The  replyof  the  Section  of  the  Theological  Faculty  of  Munich  (186  9) 
takes  advantage  of  the  negative  form  of  the  Syllabus — that  it  is 
a  list  of  condemned  errors,  to  throw  a  convenient  ambiguity  upon 
the  truths  which  the  Syllabus  does,  and  which  the  Council  will, 
proclaim.  "  The  Syllabus  errorum,"  I  quote  from  the  reply,  "  cen- 
sured a  number  of  theses  and  designated  them  as  errors,  without 
distinctly  stating  which  of  the  diflerent  ^'iews  included  in  the 
range  of  the  contradictory  views  is  to  be  considered  the  true  one." 
But  to  say  this  is  to  forget  that  to  any  distinct  proposition  which 
is  declared  false,  there  is  a  contrary  distinct  proposition  which  is, 
by  the  force  of  the  other's  falsity,  declared  true.  Let  the  proposi- 
tion, e.g.  be,  theft  is  right ;  which  proposition  is  condemned  :  it  is 
absurd  to  say  that  the  contrary  of  the  proposition  that  theft  is 
right  is  "  a  range  of  different  views,"  and  that  we  "  nowhere  dis- 
tinctly state  which  of  the  different  views  included  in  this  range  of 
contradictory  views  is  to  be  considered  the  true  one."  We  take, 
then,  the  propositions  in  the  Syllabus  :  "  The  Church  hath  not  the 
right  to  apply  force,  and — the  temporal  power  of  the  Episcopacy 
is  the  gift  of  the  State,  and  may  be  recalled  by  the  State  when 
it  likes;"  which  propositions  are  declared  false:  it  is  e^adent  that 
this  condemnation  of  itself  declares  two  contrary  propositions 
true — viz.  "  The  Church  hath  the  right  of  applying  force :  and 
The  temporal  power  of  the  Episcopacy  is  not  the  gift  of  the  State, 
and  may  not  be  recalled  by  the  State." 

The  political  subject-matter  of  the  decrees  again  is  appealed  to, 
as  a  guarantee  not  of  fact  that  they  will  not  be,  but  as  a  philo- 
sophical reason  why  "  they  would  not  be  proclaimed  as  directly 
revealed  and  traditional  dogmas  ; "  they  are  excluded,  it  is  said, 
"  to  a  great  extent  by  their  very  nature  from  being  so."  The 
unfitness  of  such  material  from  its  very  nature  for  dogma,  would 
be  indeed  a  most  excellent  and  cogent  reason  for  declining  to 
enunciate  it  as  such ;  but  it  is  unhappily  no  reason  at  all  why, 
being  enunciated  as  such,  it  will  not  be  such.  That  ought  to 
have  been  thought  of  first;  it  will  be  too  late  to  revert  to  the 
subject-matter  when  the  dogma  is  made.    Again,  recourse  is  had 


Note. 


347 


to  all  the  resources  and  capacities  of  ambiguity  in  what  constitutes 
an  ex  cathedra  utterance  of  the  Pope.  The  Pope  may  have  dis- 
tinctly pronounced  a  proposition  to  be  an  article  of  faith ;  but 
has  he  done  so  under  all  the  conditions  which  theologians  have 
a  right  to  require  ?  and  among  the  conditions  they  have  a  right 
to  require  if  they  see  occasion  for  it,  is  a  "  more  mature  con- 
sideration of  the  point  to  be  defined  according  to  the  rules  of  Holy 
Writ  and  ecclesiastical  tradition."  But  if,  after  the  formal  de- 
claration of  a  dogma  by  the  Pope,  theologians  have  the  right  to 
consider  first  whether  the  subject-matter  admits  of  a  dogma,  and 
secondly,  whether  the  Pope  has  bestowed  sufficient  consideration 
on  the  matter ;  we  must  ask,  with  all  deference  to  the  admirable 
discreetness  of  these  theologians,  what  has  become  of,  and  what 
is  contained  in,  Papal  Infallibility  1  It  cannot  certainly  parti- 
cularly signify  in  what  quarter — whether  a  Pope  with,  or  a  Pope 
without  a  Council — such  an  Infallibility  resides. 


THE  END. 


Printed  by  R.  &  R.  ("l.ARK,  Edinburgh. 


